


Lost Souls (rewrite of Lost Soul)

by Lancre_witch



Series: Legacy of Gallowmere [2]
Category: Legacy of Kain, MediEvil (Video Games)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Rewrite, and MediEvil since it pretty much follows the plot of the first game, spoilers for pretty much all of LoK
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:13:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 32,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24489541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lancre_witch/pseuds/Lancre_witch
Summary: Raziel's life had played itself out. He had bought Nosgoth a second chance, at the cost of his own freedom. A thousand worlds away, yet closer than a shadow's breadth, the necromancer Zarok was gathering his army.(Essentially, what would happen if Raziel got dropped into the events of MediEvil. It strikes a tone somewhere between the two series regarding dark themes, but skewing closer to MediEvil's humour. I don't think you need to be that familiar with both series to enjoy this fic, but some passing knowledge of Legacy of Kain will make it easier to follow.)
Series: Legacy of Gallowmere [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1769080
Comments: 12
Kudos: 9





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This differs significantly from the first version, mostly by having reasonable explanation for most plot points rather than "just because". It's still a bit episodic, due to the nature of the original game, but does have more narrative thread tying it all together now. The current plan is to post one chapter a week to give a similar feel to those old serials, which I think is probably the best way to think of this fic.

_History tells of many heroes; Megwynne Stormbinder, whose steadfast bravery under siege won the favour of the gods themselves; King Ottmar, whose troops single-handedly defeated the encroaching forces of the dark army of the Nemesis; Lady Charlotte Stanley who led her garrison of barely three hundred men to victory against three thousand at the siege of Lathom House. The worlds may change, but the stories endure._

_The greatest of them all, so it was said, was Sir Daniel Fortesque, Captain of King Peregrine’s Militia. It was he who led the final battle against the dark sorcerer Zarok, he who struck the mortal blow to his black heart. Or so the stories say…_

_*_

The wind chased coils of mist across the ground and caught the flags and standards of King Peregrine’s army, their bisected skull designs grinning and leering in the early morning light.

Dan stamped his feet to warm them and looked across to his men, if such they could be called. They were mostly farm boys, more used to wielding a scythe than a sword. Perhaps half a dozen men had formal training, not counting himself. Tim had done his best teaching the lads how to fire a crossbow, and Karl and Dirk had assured him that the army was proficient in despatching straw dummies.

He risked another look at the enemy lines. They didn’t look much like sacks of straw. They didn’t even look human. Zarok had called demons from the netherworld and raised the dead from their graves to fight for him, and this band behind him was all that stood in the sorcerer’s way. He wished it wasn’t.

Dan turned back to his men. They were all looking at him, waiting, trusting. Every one of them had heard stories of his exploits, hungry for a slice of glory. What could go wrong with him leading the charge?

Now was no time to not be a hero. He straightened his back, looked into the distant, blazing eyes of the demons, and called for the first charge.

*

_The history books would later say that Sir Daniel Fortesque died a hero on that day. Ballads are still sung of how he alone turned the tide of war, demons falling before him like wheat before the scythe. But history books are often known to lie…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lady Charlotte Stanley was a real person, and was by all accounts impressively bloody minded in her refusal to surrender to the Parliamentary forces during the First English Civil War. Accounts of exactly how many men were on either side of the siege varied, so I just picked the numbers which came up most often in my reading.


	2. Resurrection

Zarok hunched over his instruments and star charts. A hundred years exactly. How fitting. A century to perfect the arts which had been forbidden to him under Peregrine’s rule. First he would take the kingdom, and then he would take his revenge. The king and his braggart fool were both long dead, but even death was no impediment to him now. Zarok had fought the Reaper and won. Now to conquer Gallowmere.

He stood and stretched, reaching for a page of his notes. All the knowledge they could have had, but now it was his alone. The only thing they would know was fear.

Zarok took his staff and left the book lined study for the adjoining balcony. The light of dawn caressed the very tips of the highest turret of his castle, the sun itself barely peeking above the mountains. That would have to go.

He raised his staff and chanted a spell of his own devising. Liquid darkness flowed from the staff’s tip and spread across the stone floor. It climbed up the walls of the castle, wrapping them in shadow. When it reached the sunlit top of the tower, it raced eastwards across the sky like living smoke, carrying night behind it. Within minutes, there was no sign of sun or day, only the cold stars shining down on a darkened land.

Zarok smiled thinly.

A mortal man would have walked for two days at a hard march to reach Gallows Town, but he was so much more than that now. Zarok’s heels clicked across the cobbles of the town’s main square less than a minute after what should have been sunrise.

“Self governance,” he sniffed. “I knew it would never amount to anything. Much better to leave it to me.”

Blue-green light crackled from his staff, threaded between closed shutters, crept under doors, and wrapped itself around the sleeping inhabitants. For a moment Zarok looked out through a hundred pairs of eyes. He blinked and the villagers’ minds went dark.

*

The darkness receded and Sir Daniel awoke on a cold slab in a musty room. He remembered a wall of claws and fangs approaching, a volley of arrows speeding past them overhead, and one heading right towards him.

He winced at the memory and put a hand to his eye. To where his eye had been. Dan slowly traced his fingers around the eye socket, the exposed bone of his cheek. No skin. No flesh. No life within him.

He flexed his fingers. The bones moved as if joined by hidden threads. Was that what he was now, Zarok’s puppet? But surely they had won. They must have. This tomb was well furnished, if faded by the years. His dress armour was dulled by dust, but free of rust. He had been buried as a hero. Zarok would have cast him into a mass grave or raised him as a revenant from the battlefield.

Whatever the cause, he was of the earth again, and while he stood he had a duty. He brushed the cobwebs from his sword, took up his shield, and pushed open the door of his mausoleum.

He wasn’t the only one who had been woken. Graves lay open to the air for as far as the eye could see. The dead wandered the hummocky ground without purpose, shambling like sleepwalkers and stumbling over their feet.

“Dreadful, isn’t it?” a voice rasped by his elbow.

Dan yelped and turned. A stone face leered at him from the wall of his tomb.

“What’s it going to do about it?” another gargoyle asked. “We remembers what it did the first time.”

“About what? This isn’t my fault!” Dan paused at hearing the modulated moan that was now his voice. He reached a hand to his lower jaw to find that it was gone.

“Oh yes it is! The Master has raised the dead to dance with the lifeless living and they’ll do it over your dead body. Do you think he would forget what happened a century past?”

“A century? But surely Zarok’s dead?”

“He carries himself well for a dead man. We saw him enter the old witches’ den below the mausoleum. Go, and finish the quest that ended your life.”

“Or see it ended a second time,” the other cackled.

“Shut up,” Dan growled indistinctly.

“Please yourself, I’m sure.”

“I’ll show you, just you see,” he muttered, more to himself than to them.

*

“ _I am not your enemy, not your destroyer. I am, as before, your right hand. Your sword. And now you will see the true enemy...”_

Raziel had know when he said them that they were his last words. He had expected oblivion when the Reaver took him. He had not dared hope for anything, except that his sacrifice be worth something.

Any chance of peace in death was stripped away when he opened his eyes to see unfamiliar stars. The full moon shone on the damp grass where he lay, but it was not the moon of Nosgoth. In the corner of his vision, a statue of an angel loomed over him, but he had no interest in stone that remained inanimate.

He lay unmoving, staring at the stars. There had been no stars lighting Kain’s empire, not for a millennium. This was a finer place than anything he could have hoped to return to. It was worth seeing more of.

The world spun and swam in and out of focus as he pulled himself up by the marble arm of the angel. Thoughts of Janos flitted guiltily across his mind. He could only hope that Kain had found him and – one way or another – given him the help that Raziel could not. The thought of him in that demon’s clutches, dead or worse, was enough to give him cause to return.

Earth fountained up a few feet away from where he stood as a corpse pulled itself out of the ground. Raziel tried to summon the wraith blade, but to no avail. The presence had left him, along with its ever present threat of dissolution.

No time for pondering or relief as the corpse shambled closer. He lashed out at it, claws cleaving through the fragile flesh of its stomach. Stumbling over its own spilled viscera, it didn’t even slow. He kicked at its leg and was rewarded with a _crack_ of breaking bone. Another step saw it collapse under its own weight, leaving its head at the right height for another kick. The skull shattered and the soul fled.

Human, he noticed, half surprised. It should have come as a relief when he thought of what could have followed him from the spectral realm in stolen bones, but this felt wrong. The body had moved like an ill-strung puppet, like something under the control of another. More than that, he didn’t need the soul to sustain him. There was no sense of mortality, of the spectral realm reaching out to pull him back to his master’s plane. For the first time in over a thousand years, Raziel was granted a taste of freedom.

It couldn’t last, as he knew well enough. He had a duty to Kain and to the world, but for now he was a ship without an anchor, another lost soul wandering an unknown world.

A scream and the clang of metal striking stone gave him some direction, and whether he followed out of curiosity or altruism he could not say.

There were maybe half a dozen dead in a small clearing between the graves, congregating on an armoured figure who swung their sword as though they were more used to cutting down sacks of straw than living foes. Raziel watched for a few seconds before circling around the group. He padded up behind a zombie and punched through its abdomen with the speed of a striking cobra. It was enough damage to loosen the soul from the flesh. He wrenched his claws sideways and tore it free completely.

Another stumbled towards him to meet a similar fate. It didn’t even raise its arms to stop the blow.

He turned as it fell, just in time to see a sword flying towards him. Raziel rolled out of the way and glared at the skeleton.

“Another mindless revenant. This is what I get for altruism.”

The skeleton stopped and lay down its sword. It raised both hands and let out a modulated moan. Raziel tilted his head, still wary. It tried again, more slowly, and this time he could make out words in there.

“Sorry. I thought you were one of… them.” The skeleton gestured to the fallen bodies then bowed. “Sir Daniel Fortesque, Captain of the King’s Militia.”

He sounded like a chronic mumbler speaking through clenched teeth, but at least he had his wits intact. Raziel wondered how much to disclose.

“Call me Raziel,” the wraith said, searching his eye for any flicker of recognition. Nothing. Despite himself, some of his wariness abated. “This may sound like a foolish question, but where are we?”

“This might come as a shock to you,” Dan began gently, “but we’re in the main cemetery, not far from Gallows Town. I’m afraid you died.”

Raziel only just resisted the urge to laugh at that. He had died. What a terrible shock, it must only be the dozenth time. There was no reason for Sir Daniel to know that, however. Besides, there were more pressing issues.

“Gallows Town? I am not familiar with the place. Is there a city nearby? Truth be told, I do not even know what century this is.”

Dan thought for a moment. “I died in the late thirteenth century, so… about a century after that, if you can believe what the gargoyles say. When I was alive, that was the biggest town in Gallowmere. Has it changed so much so quickly?”

“Gallowmere?”

“Yes.” Dan looked concerned. “Are you alright? You know what island you’re on, don’t you?”

The truth was that he wasn’t and he didn’t. Raziel didn’t even know which of the four periods in Nosgoth’s history this particular twelfth century was, if any of them. The way he saw it, he had two choices. Either he could leave and try to find some answers for himself – a method which had served him _so well_ in the past – or he could stay with Daniel until he got his bearings. He didn’t trust him, of course, but if Moebius had taught him anything, it was that lies could point the way towards the truth. And he wouldn’t be alone.

“No,” Raziel admitted.

“It’s not safe to be out on your own with all this happening,” Dan said, despite the corpses lying at Raziel’s feet. “The least I can do is get you into town.” And that took him away from the graveyard and whatever Zarok was digging up at the old witches’ den.

Raziel accepted, but there was something he had to know first. “What is ‘all this’, and why is it happening?”

“I’ve got my suspicions,” Dan said, “but they can wait until we’re away from here.”

The doorway to the living world wasn’t far. The gravediggers’ cottage was just visible between the oak boards of the iron studded doors, and beyond that, the gateway proper. The doors had been installed over a century before to keep in whatever hell could be raised in the cemetery, and the paltry efforts of a couple of skeletons barely shook them.

A gargoyle watching from the shadows laughed at them, and laughed harder when they saw Raziel flinch and start.

“Leaving so soon? You’ll have to ask the Master for the key. Oh, how we wishes we could see what he’ll do to you.”

Dan grunted, glared at it, and groaned. So much for avoiding him.

“Is now a good time for that explanation?” Raziel said.


	3. Buried Secrets

Zarok tilted his head and stared at the boulder that obscured the entrance to the old witches’ cave at the base of the hill. Limestone. A thousand tiny skeletons imbued with a single command; defend this place. A clever trick, to be sure, but he wouldn’t be thwarted by some dead hag.

Necromancy wouldn’t move it, not when someone had got there before him. Half a dozen spells lit up the night in brilliant colours, but didn’t touch the stone. He’d tried everything he could think of short of physically dragging it.

No matter, there was more than one way to get into that cave. Raising the hem of his skirt above the damp grass, he started up the twisting path to the mausoleum at the crest of the hill.

He stopped at a cry from behind him and turned. Two thin eyebrows were raised.

“ _You?_ Even death won’t stop you, will it, Fortesque? Not that it matters, you and your cerulean friend are too late – already my army has risen from the grave, and soon the Demon of the Mausoleum will- ah, but that doesn’t concern you. You won’t live long enough to worry about that.” He snapped his fingers at the two demonic statues flanking the mausoleum. 

“Kill them,” he called over his shoulder as he walked through the door.

The statues ground slowly into life. Their heads turned towards their targets. Ponderously, yet inexorably, they started down the twisting path of the hill.

Dan looked at his sword, then at the stone creatures which were almost twice his height. “Maybe,” he said, fighting to keep his voice level, “we should search the witches’ den first.”

Raziel stared up at the approaching behemoths. “Agreed.”

Dan skirted around the base of the hill quickly, talking half to himself as he scanned the grassy bank. “Somewhere around here… I only saw it once, at Granny Fortesque’s funeral. One of the witches gave me some herbal tea just to shut up my blubbing I think.”

Raziel followed him around the side of the hill, now out of sight of the statues.

“I’ve found it,” Dan said, without enthusiasm.

There was a stone archway leading into the hill, carved from a single piece of stone – the only thing not obscured by moss and grass in this ill kept corner of the cemetery. There was only one problem; the large chunk of stone in front of it.

“I don’t think there’s a back way in either.” He looked around nervously for any sign of the stone creatures.

“That will not be necessary.” Raziel sank his claws into the soft limestone boulder and pulled it aside with no apparent effort.

They stepped into the musty, damp smelling cave – or caves, rather. Aside from the small chamber they stood in, three rooms had been carved out of the living rock, far more regular than nature could make them. The walls were smooth, devoid of the tool marks  found on stone worked by mortal means.

A  wheezing cough broke the stillness, and eventually resolved itself into words. “At last. We always knew you’d come back.”

“Who, us? Back?” Dan asked, taking a step back.

“We?” Raziel asked, ready to run if another, older voice spoke into his mind.

“So much for the witches’ return,” the voice sighed. “Look next to the doorway.”

They turned. A gargoyle’s head was just visible in the gloom. Even half shrouded in shadow, it looked unimpressed.

“You’re not the Master’s puppets, so you’ll have to do. Someone’s got to stop him, and at least one of you’s got some experience.”

“I wish I hadn’t,” Raziel muttered as he stalked away into the next room.

Behind him, Dan stumbled into something in the dark, but Raziel could see well enough. A soot stained cauldron hung over an empty fire pit, a couple of bookcases stood against one wall, and a pale purple glow emanated from another doorway. He crept towards it.

An altar stood in the centre of the room. On it was a cloth covered in patterns he couldn’t make out, and on that sat a golden chalice encircled by a delicate chain. The mouth of the chalice glowed faintly – the source of the arcane light. Something within Raziel urged him to pick it up, while the larger, wiser part of him warned him to turn away. He took a hesitant step forward.

With a sound like a brass band falling down a flight of stairs, Dan blundered into the room with a cauldron on one foot, tripped on something invisible, and went flying into the altar. The chalice went flying. The cloth fell over his head. For a few moments, Dan lay in a heap on the floor. He tried to move, but stopped when something metallic made a noise of protest.

Raziel rolled his eyes and bent to help him up. Dan’s arm moved about six inches and stopped.

“You are caught on something. Stay still.” Squinting in the dim light, Raziel unwrapped a thin bronze chain from Dan’s wrist. Something hanging from it had become trapped in the gap between his breastplate and pauldron. He slid it down carefully, and the small metal pentagram came free.

“Thank you,” Dan mumbled. He pulled the cauldron off his foot and kicked it away.

Raziel recovered the chalice from the floor. He couldn’t suppress a gasp as his claws closed over it. The pendant had some magic to it, true, but this… this  was different .

Careful not to let the fear show in his voice, he said softly, “Daniel, I do believe we have found  what Zarok was searching for. Whatever this goblet is, it is not fully of this world. It- it...” _feels as the Soul Reaver did. Even here, my fate calls to me again._

He shook his head. No need to go into that. “It should not fall into the wrong hands,” he finished, hoping Daniel would not hear the quaver in his voice.

“Do you know what it’s for? What it does?” Dan asked.

“I haven’t the slightest clue, but one of the books here must tell us something.”

“You want us to take a little reading break while Zarok is up there doing God knows what?” Actually, when put like that, the idea did have some appeal.

Raziel shrugged. “I trust fate to keep me to my path,” he said and pulled a book at random from the nearest shelf.

A pentagram was inked onto the page, but the writing beside it was illegible in the gloom. Raziel wandered back to the comparative light of the entrance, Dan trailing along behind. He squinted at the page, and read, _“…may be summoned by the aid of mystic Charms or Talismans. Yet let it be known that help from a Witch is rarely given freel_ _y_ _,_ _for_ _they abide by laws far older than the Kings of Gallowmere. They say that for something to be given, something must first be lost, yet when much is taken, something must surely be returned.”_

That explained the bronze pendant at any rate. It was simple summoning charm. As for the chalice-

The gargoyle drew an unnecessary breath when they saw what Dan was carrying. “It found _that?_ May it do you more good than it did the old Mistress.”

“What is it?” Dan looked at the cup as if it would bite him.

“The Chalice of Souls, they called it. Even the old witches didn’t know all it can do, but it drinks souls from this world and pulls them from the next. If the Master got his hands on, he could force men’s souls to fight for him rather than just their corpses, and we doesn’t know what else.”

“Nothing that can stop those things outside,” Dan said.

“No. Not unless it can steal whatever life he gave to them.” Raziel rolled his shoulders and left the cave. The prospect of certain death was nothing new to him.

Dan’s somewhat stronger sense of self preservation and quick reflexes stopped him from getting hit by the stone creature waiting just outside the cave mouth. Its fist hit the ground where he had stood and sank several inches into the earth.

“Run, damn it!”

“But we should-” Raziel began. Behind him, the stone creature slowly stood back up and began to turn.

“No!” Dan yelped. “No, we should catch up to Zarok if we can.”

Raziel only hesitated a moment. It made sense. And the second stone demon was lumbering around the hill as swiftly as its bulk allowed.

Dan didn’t bother with the path. He started running straight up the side of the hill, desperate to get out of the monster’s reach. His feet slipped on the damp grass and he went over onto his knees. He didn’t bother righting himself, just scrambled up the hillside on all fours. Raziel soon joined him, claws sinking easily into the loose earth to keep himself steady.

“A fine strategy in avoidance. If we move quickly, we may yet beat them to the summit.”

Dan looked down, then to the side. The statues had covered more ground than he would have thought possible, and were now climbing the path almost level with them.

“I said _quickly_.” Raziel continued up the hill easily, leaving Dan to scramble and struggle a few paces behind. Still the creatures kept pace, barely half a dozen meters to the side of them and getting closer as the slope levelled.

And now Raziel was looking back, waiting for him despite the stone beasts closing in. The ground was flat enough. Dan rose from hands and knees straight into a sprint. One of the creatures moved to intercept him, but he ducked between its legs and ran on. Its fist thudded into the ground behind him.

Moments later, he was beside Raziel, still running with all the speed terror could muster. The wraith kept pace, taking almost two steps for every one of Dan’s, and, together, they reached the sanctuary of the mausoleum.


	4. Demons and Dead Men

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for accidental, non-malicious deadnaming of a trans character near the end of the chapter. The only thing from the comic I accept as canon is Canny Tim being a trans man.

They burst into the mausoleum, weapons raised. Two rows of marble tombs stretched away to the high brass gates which split the mausoleum in two. On the other side, moonlight filtered through the towering stained glass window decorated with the image of a demon. Zarok leaned against the gates and smiled at them between the bars.

“Dan, Dan, Dan, you are a persistent one, I’ll give you that, but you won’t be getting anywhere without this.” He reached inside his bodice and produced a heavy iron key, almost black with age. “The old graveyard keepers thought they were fighting me when they locked the dead in here, yet here you are, their so-called saviour, unable to leave the cemetery you rotted in. I almost wish you would live long enough to see my Shadow Demons return, but life can’t all be fun and games.”

He lay the key on the windowsill, below the demon screaming silently in the glass. Its faceted eyed focused on Zarok as he spoke. “I’m sure you can take care of them, even if I cannot yet fully remove the binding. Have fun,” Zarok said, and vanished in a flash of green light.

Raziel tensed for an attack, but none came. The demon in the window remained nothing more than lifeless glass. Silence reigned in the sepulchral air in the necromancer’s wake.

There was a sound like a finger running around the rim of a wineglass, and something ran at Dan from a distant, spider haunted corner. Roughly half the size of a man, like a poorly sculpted human being crossed with a pig, it scuttled across the floor.

“Damned imps.” Dan took a swipe at one with his sword. The little creature grabbed onto the blade and tried to pull it out of his hands.

He tried shaking it off, her tried kicking it, but the unfortunate fact was that the imp was much stronger than he was. “Raziel, help!”

The wraith grabbed the imp and pulled. Dan staggered and held onto the crossguard. The imp’s grip gave way and Raziel tumbled backwards, the squealing creature still in his arms. They hit the side of a tomb and fell through as the old stone crumbled.

When the dust had cleared, Dan cautiously peered down. The tomb had once concealed a flight of stairs beneath it, but the worm eaten wood had given way under the falling wraith.

“Raziel? Are you alright?”

“No. But thank you for asking.”

“Can you get out?”

There was some quiet scrabbling, the sound of claws on stone, and a dull thud as a baulk of rotten timber gave way.

“Not this way,” Raziel said eventually.

“Right, don’t worry, I’m coming down.”

“No, don’t-”

Too late. Dan jumped. A moment later there was a clang and a pained yelp.

“Sorry,” Dan said, rolling off the slightly squashed wraith.

“Yes, well...” Raziel brushed himself off. “No harm done. We do, however, now have a new problem; finding an exit. This tunnel could lead anywhere. Or nowhere.”

He handed back Dan’s sword and set off down the dusty stone corridor, not bothering to look back. There wasn’t anywhere to go but forwards. Dan stumbled along behind, almost tripping over every loose or uneven stone in the darkness.

“I really am sorry, but I didn’t want to just leave you.”

“You would have been better served by finding a rope or a ladder,” Raziel said without rancour. The knight’s reasoning may have been somewhat questionable, but he couldn’t help finding his concern somewhat touching.

They walked on in comparative silence, except for the occasional metallic sounds as Dan found another unexpected obstacle.

After a particularly hollow thud, a hand tapped Raziel on the shoulder.

“Is that a light up ahead or did I hit my head harder than I thought?”

Raziel squinted. “What did you manage to hit your head on? There is nothing there?”

“The ceiling’s low. I didn’t duck enough.”

Raziel, head level with Dan’s shoulder, decided not to comment. “I think you may be right about the light. Stay behind me and try to be quiet.”

“If you’re going first, take this.” Dan handed him his sword. “I wouldn’t be able to hit a thing in this gloom anyway.”

Raziel took it and swung it a couple of times to get a feel for the weight and balance. He padded forward, silent as a cat. Dan shuffled along a few paces behind.

They reached a corner and Raziel held up a hand. The source of the light was just beyond.

Dan stopped obediently. Now that his clumsy footsteps were silenced, Raziel could listen for any clue as to what they were about to encounter. His ears strained. The pattering footsteps of a light footed creature, a snuffling noise, and something else, a deep rhythmic sound just on the edge of hearing.

He gripped the sword and stepped into the light. Two imps were scuttling about, one with a torch and another with a couple of short daggers. It was impossible to tell if they were fighting or playing, but the moment they saw him, all their attention was upon him, and their intentions were clear.

A dagger came flying at him, too quick and too sudden to dodge. Raziel grunted in pain as it buried itself in his shoulder. He sagged, a knee hit the ground.

The other imp ran towards him, wielding its torch like a club. Raziel stayed down, panting, one hand around the dagger’s hilt. He watched, unmoving, as it approached and raised its torch over its head.

Raziel swung his sword fast as a striking cobra. It cut through the imp’s belly without slowing. In the same movement he stood, pulled the dagger from his shoulder, and threw it at the other imp as it fled.

The dagger clattered against the stonework and fell to the floor somewhere beyond the little pool of torchlight. The light itself was fading fast as the torch guttered and smoked on the floor where it had fallen.

“I heard some noise. Is everything alright?”

Dan stepped around the corner. He picked up the torch and it flickered back into full life. Blood glistened in the light; green from the imp lying lifeless on the ground, and blue from Raziel’s shoulder. Dan panicked.

“Raziel, you’re bleeding! We’ve got to do something. We need a dressing… handkerchief, why wasn’t I buried with a handkerchief? I know, if I tear my shirt-”

“Shh… leave it. There are better ways.” Raziel waved Dan’s hands away from the buckles of his breastplate.

He drew down his cowl, revealing a jawless face, no nose, no skin, just blue muscle and sinew over bone. Dan unconsciously took a step back.

The fallen imp’s soul rose from its body and flew towards the wraith. Dan shuddered as Raziel consumed it in a brief blue-green flash of light. He replaced his cowl as if nothing had happened, and only then noticed Daniel’s shock.

“I take it,” he said, “that you can see souls?”

Dan nodded hesitantly. “You- you eat them? What are you?”

Raziel was silent for a space. “An excellent question, and not one I am fully capable of answering. Once I was a vampire. Since my death – my second death, I should say – the thirst for blood was replaced by one darker still. You are in no danger from me, I assure you,” he added quickly as Dan backed away further. “Yet consuming the souls of the slain heals this sorry form of mine.”

He moved his hand, revealing undamaged flesh where the knife wound had been.

“Does it… hurt?”

Raziel shook his head. From horror to concern in moments, the wraith thought. To say that Raziel did not trust easily was to say that sheep were wary of wolves, yet despite himself, a part of him wanted to put its faith in Daniel.

“Now? No.” He tucked his cowl back into place. “Well, this is not helping us find an exit. Shall we?”

“Yes, I suppose.”

Dan remained a couple of meters behind. The light from the torch he still carried barely illuminated anything beyond Raziel’s feet. He stopped altogether when Raziel picked up the fallen dagger.

A nervous ally was an uncertain ally. Raziel stopped.

“I think you would make better use of this than I,” he said, handing Dan the dagger. “And I should return this to you as well.”

He waited until Dan had pocketed the dagger, then handed his sword back. The knight didn’t show any signs of sheathing it, but perhaps that was for the best.

“Can you still carry that torch in your shield hand?”

“I can manage.”

 _And while I carry no weapon, you believe I cannot harm you,_ Raziel thought, satisfied, as they continued side by side along the winding corridor.

As they walked, the dismal strains of organ music drifted towards them. Raziel winced and covered his ears.

“At least someone else is down here,” Dan said, picking up his pace. “Maybe they can give us directions out.”

The sound of the funeral dirge grew louder. Whoever was playing the instrument, they were most certainly losing.

“When we do meet the organist, I intend to make a request,” Raziel said. “ _Stop_ should suffice.”

A scurrying noise made him look around, not quite fast enough to see the imp before it ran into his leg. He kicked it off without thinking. Dan swung his sword down clumsily, catching a glancing blow. Something fell from the imp’s hand as it scuttled away into the darkness.

Raziel knelt to pick it up. “Sheet music? What could that creature possibly have wanted with this?”

Dan held his torch lower to help Raziel read and peered over his shoulder. Perfectly ordinary sheet music. He shrugged.

“I’ve never known imps to be musical. Then again, I never knew many imps. The thieving little buggers weren’t welcome at court.”

“I have no doubt.” Raziel tucked the sheet into his cowl. The paper might come in useful for something, if only for smacking that damned organist’s hands until they stopped.

“A staircase. Oh thank God.” Dan ran up it, taking the stairs two at a time. Raziel followed more slowly. The noise of the music, if such it could be called, was near the pain threshold.

The music stopped when they stepped into the side room which housed the organ. The ghostly organist spun in his seat, already flinching as if waiting for a blow. His eyes widened when he saw them.

“Flee while you still can!” he hissed. “Run, before the demon turns his wrath on you. Those imps have stolen my music again. Damned fools. I try to play without it, for every time that single tune ceases, he rises and paints the walls with blood.”

“You’re trapped here?” Dan asked, shocked.

The phantom nodded. “He won’t let my soul leave while he lives. It’s not too bad when I have my music, and when he isn’t in a rage.”

Raziel removed the sheet music from his cowl. “We require a key which is in his possession. Perhaps we may be able to help one another.”

“You won’t be able to,” the phantom said wearily. “I’ve tried – God, how I’ve tried – but he just laughed and said I would never find his heart. Even if I could, his soul would still stalk these halls if what Zarok said is true. Just leave this house of pain. It’s not your battle.”

“Raziel, could you hear a heartbeat if we kept quiet?” Dan asked.

“Possibly. I heard… something in the undercroft. When I heard the music, I thought it was nothing more than that carried through the stone.” He turned to the phantom. “Can you leave off your playing while I search?”

“The demon doesn’t like it when I stop. He will come prowling.”

“And he will meet us.”

The phantom relented. “For you, for the sake of hope, I will. But the moment he leaves his window I will start to play for my very soul, sir. May God have mercy upon yours.”

Dan trailed Raziel through the catacombs once more, holding the torch high above his head and trying not to look at the dancing shadows which formed faces at the edges of the light.

Every so often, Raziel would stop and listen then set off down another of the endless branching corridors. Dan couldn’t hear a thing. They could get lost down here in the dark for the rest of their lives with a demon stalking the crumbling corridors in search of them. The shadows seemed to grow longer and darker at the thought of it, creeping steadily across the floor and swallowing the light.

“Daniel, down here please. I need a light.”

Raziel had disappeared down yet another passageway. There could be anything down there, but there could be anything behind him too. He followed.

A draught from some long forgotten air shaft made the torch flame gutter and flicker. In the dying light he saw great clustered shards of glass hanging from the walls, floor and ceiling like stalagmites and stalactites. One wrong move could see him impaled.

The torch went out.

“Daniel?”

“I’m still here. The torch went out.” He hoped that didn’t sound as pathetic to Raziel as it did to him. He hoped his eye would adjust to the dark soon. He hoped he wouldn’t see anything waiting for him when it did.

Slowly, outlines became visible in the gloom. There was some light down here, faint as a fire’s last sparks. It shifted and changed in a steady rhythm, one second a deep red, the next an icy blue, amber, green. The light was barely bright enough to see more than the edges of darker shapes and the faint glint of glass, but it was enough. Dan edged forward, sword sweeping the ground in front of him.

From here the shadows looked like an emaciated figure, two shards of glass giving the impression of glowing eyes. In the shifting light, he half believed it was moving.

It was moving.

Dan screamed.

The thing stalked closer, its claws spread. He couldn’t turn and run here, it would be suicide to try, but so would fighting this thing.

“Stop moving before you impale yourself. Are you injured?” The thing stepped forward, and Dan finally recognised it as Raziel.

He sagged. “I’m fine. Just the dark and these things.” He tapped one of the spikes.

“Then for goodness sake don’t touch them again. I heard you shout the first time.”

“Yeah, that’s- yes, absolutely, the spikes. More shocked than hurt, really.”

“Let us see that it remains so. Put your feet where I do and don’t touch anything. This central aisle is mostly clear, which is a mercy.”

Dan could hear the heartbeat now, a steady pulse in time with the changing colours. Their feet crunched on broken glass, and as they turned the corner, the demon’s glass heart was revealed. It lay on a tomb, in the centre of a pentagram carved into the stone. Its rainbow facets shifted, expanded and contracted to the beat of the struggling ball of light within.

Dan went to pick it up.

“I don’t think that is a good ide- oh.” Raziel was stopped by the shattering of glass. “That must be the quickest and easiest demon slaying I have ever witnessed. Well done, Daniel.”

Dan wasn’t listening. He stared at the glass shards, muttering a constant litany of _shitshitshitshit_ under his breath. The light which had been trapped in the heart hovered above them, pulsing slowly. The shards of glass fluttered like leaves on a windy day and rose to orbit the light. For a few moments the light continued to hover there, then sped away down the corridor, fragments of glass streaming behind it like a comet’s tail.

“Stay close!” Raziel ordered and ran after it, Dan barely a pace behind. They hared down darkened corridors, bounced off walls, and tore up the steps into the mausoleum once more.

The light hung in front of the stained glass window, high above their heads. The shards of glass stopped spinning and started organising themselves with purpose. In seconds the beating heart had reassembled itself. It drifted into the window, in the centre of the demon’s chest, becoming flat and still. The light spread from the heart to suffuse the creature’s entire form.

The window shattered as the Stained Glass Demon leapt. Glass hung in the air for a moment before it spilled onto the floor. The demon’s feet landed on the glittering shards and it roared.

“Hell!” Dan shouted.

“Not far off I fear,” Raziel said, circling it in the opposite direction to Dan, his eyes never leaving the demon. Its heart was still visible beating beneath its translucent faceted hide.

Dan threw the now useless burned out torch at it, more out of desperation than anything. It bounded towards him, claws cutting through the air. They were almost as long as the sword in his shaking hand and looked every bit as deadly.

Raziel launched himself at the demon, clawing at the smooth glass for a hold, a chink in the plates, anything. He was thrown off with a shrug of its shoulders, but the demon backed away. Whether he had managed to hurt it was anyone’s guess, but it didn’t want to get close again. It didn’t need to.

The demon stood up on its hind legs and drew a claw across its chest. The glassy skin parted and its heart rose from its chest. Still beating steadily, the light inside it grew. Shards of glass streamed from it aimed squarely at the skeletons across the room.

Raziel shielded his face with his arms and closed his eyes, waiting for them to hit home. The expected pain never came. He opened his eyes cautiously. Dan’s shield was held in front of them both, taking the brunt of the battering.

When the onslaught abated, Raziel bolted towards the demon. He ducked under its claws and jumped at it again.

“Raziel, what the hell are you doing? It didn’t do any good the first time. Get down!” Dan shouted.

Raziel’s grip slipped on the smooth, angular planes of the demon’s chest. “We have to get at its heart,” he snapped back, feet scrabbling for purchase.

“Raziel!”

“What now?”

“Catch!”

Raziel turned as the dagger was tossed towards him. He caught it by the hilt. Fighting to keep his balance, he spun the blade around and plunged it into the near-invisible seam where two plates of glass met, right above its beating heart.

The demon froze. Raziel pulled the dagger free and leapt back to the ground. One high pitched note rang out, clear as a bell, and the Stained Glass Demon shattered.

Its soul rose from the shards of glass and streamed towards Daniel. Raziel called out a warning, but before he could get beyond the first word, the soul hit him. Dan staggered, apparently unaffected until he noticed the purple glow emanating from beneath his armour. He started patting himself down and eventually produced the chalice from the witches’ den. Some vaporous, purple liquid filled it to the brim, and the glow was still growing brighter.

It concerned Raziel more than the demon had. “I think you should put that down. Right now, Daniel!” He started towards him, hand outstretched.

Sounds became muted, colours faded, and the world fell away in a moment of suspended time. A young man, insubstantial as a ghost, appeared before them. His green tunic and pageboy haircut didn’t immediately mark him as a warrior, but Raziel’s gaze was drawn to the gleaming crossbow in his hand. A crossbow bolt wouldn’t kill him, of course, but it still wouldn’t be pleasant. He padded towards him slowly.

“Tim!” Dan shouted.

“Captain Fortesque!”

Raziel looked on as the old friends embraced, each talking over the other.

“I knew you’d get another chance one day,” Tim beamed, finally letting go of him. “Does the battle go well?”

Dan rubbed the back of his neck. “Not so good.”

“How I wish I could fight by your side again, sir. But hold, you can take my crossbow! It’s the same one I used at the Battle of Gallowmere. After you were slain I shot Zarok’s champion, Lord Kardok – a clean kill through the eye at some thousand yards!”

“Get on with it,” Dan grumbled. He didn’t need to hear about that damned centaur, much less know the two of them had something in common.

“Not that there’s anything clever about shooting someone in the eye, sir,” Tim gabbled, digging the hole a little bit deeper.

Dan’s response was thankfully unintelligible, and it was left to Raziel to rekindle positive relations.

“That answers any questions there may have been about Daniel’s death. Archers always were a pain to deal with.” He patted Dan on the shoulder vaguely. “Just what did the chalice do?”

“It summoned me from the Hall of Heroes, albeit briefly. If enough soul energy is sent one way, it can be used as a conduit to allow a soul of the slain to return until the chalice empties, and we can give something to help you, too.” He handed over the crossbow. “Remember to keep the chalice with you. I can’t say why, but it’s very important.”

“Timberly...” Dan began.

“It’s Timothy now, sir.”

“Oh, ah, when did that change?”

“About a century ago, really. I’ve been able to be more honest about myself since I died.”

“Good, that’s good,” Dan said distractedly. “Now, Timothy, what the hell do you mean you can’t tell us?”

“I can’t tell you that either, I’m afraid.”

“Tim-”

“I’ll explain everything when it’s all over. I believe in you, sir!”

And with that, Canny Tim faded from the world and reality returned.

“What,” Raziel said, looking at the crossbow, “was all that about?”

“Well, when Tim was born, his parents thought he was a girl. We all did, but then-”

“No, not that. I understand that well enough, I assure you. Quite personally, in fact. No, I meant is it usual for dead warriors to come back and lend you their weapons?”

“It’s not what you’d call a regular occurrence. I blame it on Zarok messing around with life and death again. King Peregrine banished the bastard, fought the bastard, commissioned unflattering songs about the bastard, but some people just won’t take the hint.”

“Yes, I think I know the type. But whatever his intentions, Zarok must be long gone by now.”

Dan picked up the key from the mess of broken glass and stood, looking through the empty window frame across the cemetery. “We’ll find him,” he promised. “We’ll find him.”


	5. Guardians of the Graveyard

Dan turned the key in the lock and the heavy oak doors to the graveyard opened with a gentle push. Carved skulls leered down at them from stone pillars. Tentatively, he stepped through, Raziel just behind.

This patch of no man’s land between the realms of the living and the dead must once have been a pretty little place. The open lawn was lined by vegetable plots and dotted with half a dozen fruit trees. Once, not long ago, someone living in the cottage had cared for and tended this place. Now the moonlight gave the trees shifting, snarling faces, and the wind howled across the grass like a mournful wolf. Anyone living had long since fled.

It was uncertain who picked up the pace first, but neither felt the need to linger here. By the time they were halfway across the grass, they were almost running for the invitingly open gates at the far side.

The gates swung closed.

“It’s just the wind,” Dan said uncertainly.

“Pray tell me how the wind managed to lift the latch and pull the bolt across.”

“Alright, not _just_ the wind.”

A howl echoed around the cemetery. The stone hounds that sat proudly on the gate posts opened their glowing amber eyes and snarled.

Dan stepped back. “Uh, nice doggies.”

The grimhounds jumped down from their pedestals and crouched before the gates, ready to leap at the slightest movement.

Raziel waited for their attack, claws raised. “What sort of dogs do you _have_ here?”

“We don’t have many dogs like these. Those are graveyard grims, meant to protect the living from the dead, and that means keeping us in.”

“And tear our souls from our bones if necessary?”

“Of course.”

One dog, easily four feet tall at the shoulder, padded forward slowly. The other sat before the gate and watched them with unblinking eyes. Dan drew his sword and started circling to the right. Raziel circled to the left, his gaze flicking between the two hounds. The closest one suddenly turned and bounded towards Dan. Raziel had time to shout half a warning cry before it lunged.

Dan threw himself to the side, swinging his sword as it came. The blow would have felled a flesh and blood creature, but the blade clattered harmlessly across its stone flank. The hound yelped and retreated.

“At least we know that they can be hurt,” Raziel said.

“The problem is, so can we.”

“You know what these creatures are. How can they be killed?”

“They can’t. Someone with magic could maybe put them to sleep. Maybe. We haven’t got a chance.”

“Can we run?”

Dan looked from the hound now prowling towards Raziel to the one which still sat to attention by the gate.

“I think we’d get about three feet.”

“I… have a plan,” Raziel said hesitantly. “If one of us were to lure the other dog away from the gate, we would have a clear run to leave.”

“That’s it? I don’t think that’s even half a plan!”

“If you have a better suggestion, please enlighten me.” Raziel barely avoided the hound’s teeth as it jumped. His claws raked along its jaw with a sound like nails on a chalkboard.

Dan had to admit that he didn’t. “Alright, I’ll try to get its attention.”

He whistled through his teeth. “Oi! Over here!”

The hound turned its head to him and lazily stood up. It cocked its head to one side as if waiting to see what he would do. Dan wished he knew.

“Come here, then. I don’t want to fight," he said with perfect honesty. "Who’s a good dog?”

Not this one, he thought as it approached. Its burning eyes were almost hypnotic, completely fixed on him-

He felt Raziel’s hand on his arm. It startled him back to reality.

“Move!” Raziel pulled him towards the gate, slipping past the hounds in a brief burst of speed. The stone pillars rose on either side. Dan fought the bolt back. Hope bloomed. They were going to make it.

Teeth snapped at Raziel’s trailing wings. He stumbled, would have fallen if not for Dan’s hand pulling him forward. There was a sound like tearing silk and Raziel screamed. He tumbled through the gates and fell onto the damp grass beyond.

The grimhounds snarled and bayed at the gateway, stretching their necks and snapping at them, yet could not set one paw beyond graveyard soil.

Raziel got to his hands and knees, still shaking. Dan knelt beside him.

“Here, let me.” He reached out.

Raziel’s eyes turned on him, blazing with as much ferocity as the demonic hounds'. In that moment he was over five centuries in the past, his maker looming over him, the agony of his tattered wings less terrible than the sting of betrayal.

Daniel’s look of concern brought him back to reality. Kain had never looked at him so, had never cared for another above himself.

“Leave it,” Raziel said. “It is nothing a soul cannot solve.”

“If you’re sure?”

“I am.”

“Right, then. To Gallows Town?”

The last couple of hours had almost made him forget about that. “To Gallows Town,” Raziel agreed.


	6. Scarecrow Fields

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To clear up a bit of confusion I've seen from US friends, corn is a catch all word for grain here in the UK, so wheat is a type of corn. Over there I believe corn and maize are pretty much interchangeable. I mention this mostly to reassure readers that the probably Scottish island of Gallowmere is not growing this North American staple. The pumpkins I can't explain. Let's just say it's magic.

Dan set out confidently down the winding road. Half a mile down the track, he somewhat less confidently stopped by a bridge before a fork in the road.

“Erm…”

“Are you lost?”

“I’m… not sure.”

A thin, reedy laugh drifted from a stone pillar of the bridge. The gargoyle opened its eyes. “Ah, all has changed since you entered the necropolis. Paths go this way, paths go that way. The path you seek is to the right, but be warned. Nasty, painful death waits around every turn and over every hill,” it said without concern. “Bon voyage.”

“I have learned to be wary of direction freely given. Can we trust these beings?”

Dan shrugged. “They talk to one another. I don’t think they’re on anyone’s side really, but they’re normally honest.”

“I think if I was trapped in one place unable to leave, I would favour entertainment above all else as well.” Raziel glanced at his right arm, the insubstantial sword gone, his own fate if not rewritten then at last postponed.

The road rambled on, across hills and around small copses of trees. The meadowland gave way to fields of wheat, and Dan started to get his bearings.

“Right, if we head towards the northern mill, we should pick up the main road to Gallows Town. People still need to buy flour, so a century shouldn’t have changed the route much.”

Raziel said nothing. Agriculture was a closed book to him. He was broadly aware that humans grew crops for food, and had some shaky understanding that scarecrows were used to keep birds away. He wasn’t quite sure why they were in fields where the corn stalks grew so high that he could barely see over them. Maybe the birds stole the stalks for nests? It didn’t seem to work, at any rate. Dozens of crows perched on the scarecrows as happily as on the fences.

“No that is clever,” he said.

“Hmm, what?”

“How do the farmers make their eyes glow like that? Some sort of lantern arrangement?”

“Where?” Dan said urgently. “Don’t point, just tell me.”

“The middle of the field on our right.”

Dan glanced around and swore.

“It’s following us, but only slowly. Keep moving, don’t look back, and we might be alright.”

“Should we run?”

“No point. It would catch us before we reached that barn.”

“Couldn’t we fight it? It’s only wood and straw, after all.”

“No. Even if you hack them to bits they’ll still keep coming.”

“You sound awfully well informed,” Raziel said dubiously.

“My granny helped the Pumpkin Witch the last time they woke. She told me stories about it when I was a kid. They kept me quiet, I can tell you.”

“Then assuming your grandmother was the fount of knowledge that you claim, what can we do?”

“Keep moving and pray. If we had a fire, that would at least destroy their physical bodies.”

Raziel had no gods worth praying to. He had no faith except in other mortal beings, and that had been betrayed often enough, yet he couldn’t bring himself to believe that Daniel would do the same.

There was a rustling in the dark behind them. Unknowingly, they drew closer together. Raziel resisted the urge to turn, even as their feet kicked up dust as their pace increased. How foolish he felt. In the time of the clans he had feared nothing – he had _been_ the terror in the night. Now he had some taste of how the humans must have felt, hurrying home after dark, every shadow a threat, every unknown sound another source of fear.

He didn’t yelp when Dan took his hand. Raziel had enough self control not to flinch in his momentary panic. He didn’t have the willpower to stop himself from squeezing his hand back.

“It’s got to the edge of the field,” Dan said, keeping his voice low. “The moment you see it move, run. If we can get to the barn, we might have half a chance.”

A crow swooped down on them out of the darkness. Raziel swatted at it. The startled caw was apparently the cue the scarecrow had been waiting for.

Raziel would never know how a creature made of strung together sticks and straw managed to vault over the fence with the ease of a living being. The scarecrow stood in the middle of the path, its jagged maw grinning widely, its arms open in a ghoulish parody of welcome.

“Run!”

Dan pushed Raziel to one side of the scarecrow while he took the other. He didn’t dare look back as they sped down the dusty road. He could hear nothing above the pounding of their feet, but a fearful certainty told him that it was just behind, waiting to pounce.

The barn was close and its door was open. Dan stumbled through it and slammed it closed the moment Raziel skidded inside.

Seconds later something hit the door with a dull thump. Raziel flinched. “Will that door hold?”

“It should do. They’re not heavy or even that strong, but they are persistent.” As Dan spoke, another rustling, thudding noise came from the opposite wall of the barn.

“So what you are saying is that we’re stuck here.”

Dan paused. “Essentially, yes.”

“Excellent.” Raziel looked around. Hay bales, a pitchfork propped against one wall, something that looked like a cart under a tarpaulin, nothing that would be much help in a fight. He picked up the pitchfork anyway. It was better than nothing, and he didn’t relish the thought of fighting the things with his bare hands.

Dan scrambled up the stack of hay bales and peered out of the window. He could see three scarecrows on this side, battering ceaselessly against the sun bleached wood of the barn. Behind them, achingly close, the moonlight shone on the wide, straight road to Gallows Town. It may as well have been on the next island.

A light caught his eye. Something in the next little farmstead, a fire or a candle in the window. Either way, it meant hope.

“Raziel, I’ve got a plan… Raz?”

The wraith had removed the tarpaulin and was poking about at the metallic contraption underneath. He disentangled himself from the mechanism and looked up.

“Hmm?”

There’s a light at the next farm over. If we can find a way to get out, we should head over there.”

“If,” Raziel echoed.

“I suppose when you put it like that it’s not exactly helpful.”

“This is a most curious machine,” Raziel said, apparently ignoring him. “By the rotating blades on the front, I imagined it was a war engine, but I doubt such a thing would be kept in a decidedly civilian barn.”

“It’s a harvesting machine,” Dan said, “and I think I know why the scarecrows have woken. Whatever you do, don’t go into the corn.”

“Do tell.”

“I’d rather not mention her by name if she’s awake. She’s the mistress of the Corn Killers, and the scarecrows bow to her. Let’s call her the Corn Queen, and let’s say that she’s not happy. Not happy at all. Zarok’s attack must have prevented the harvest going ahead on time, along with all the things they do afterwards appease her.”

“I do not deal with gods,” Raziel said. “Not now. This mechanism can cleave through straw and wood, and that is all that is necessary. Help me turn it towards the door.”

“I don’t like this,” Dan mumbled. “I don’t like this at all.”

“Then you are free to remain here,” Raziel snapped.

“I didn’t say that. Now who’s going to open the door? Toss a coin?” He found a tarnished sixpence in a pocket and placed it on his thumb.

“I will. Pray do not take offence when I say that I do not want you to take a running jump onto a moving harvester.”

Dan couldn’t really argue with that. “Alright. Be careful.”

Raziel nodded and stood waiting by the door. “Be ready to pull the lever on my signal.”

He picked up the pitchfork again and drew the bolts back from the door. The moment the last one was pulled aside, the door burst inwards and four scarecrows tumbled into the barn.

“Now!” Raziel shouted, already running.

The harvester shuddered into life, spider-like appendages clicking as the mechanical horse surged forward. Raziel saw the vortex of blades flash past him and he jumped. Dan caught his arm and helped him scramble up into the driver’s seat beside him.

One of the scarecrows stepped out of the way in time. The others became an expanding cloud of straw thrown up from the blades and a sad little pile of cloth on the ground behind the harvester. Dan turned in his seat and eyed the intact scarecrow warily. It made no move to chase them. A couple of crows settled on its outstretched arms and sat there, staring straight at him. He met their gaze and shuddered.

There was a thump. Raziel cursed and made a grab for the steering column. The metal protested as he tried to turn, but too late. The front wheels disappeared into a ditch, hidden in the long grass which grew up on either side. Soil fountained up from the spinning blades. The whole thing teetered on the edge for a moment before gravity took hold and brought it crashing into the ditch.

Dan lay on the bare soil for a few seconds, wondering how much it would hurt when he tried to move. A lot, he decided.

The cawing of a crow startled him to his feet. He winced as his back protested. But however much it hurt, it would be worse if they stayed. He nudged a clawed blue foot which was poking out of the wreckage. It groaned.

“Come on,” Dan said, far more cheerfully than he felt.

He took hold of Raziel’s ankle and pulled the protesting wraith free.

“We’d better get moving.”

“Very well,” Raziel said in a voice more fit for curses. He freed the pitchfork from the debris for the comfort the makeshift weapon gave, and started for the opposite bank of the ditch.

Dan put a restraining hand on his arm. “Not that way.”

“But it’s barely a dozen feet to the path. We only have to cut through a few rows of-” Raziel stopped. A shadow moved in the corn. A thin, gnarled hand snatched at the air in front of them, where Raziel would have been if not for Dan’s hold on his arm.

“What in the hell was that?” he asked as they jogged towards the distant farm buildings.

“No one’s ever seen enough of them to say and lived to do so. Just call them the Corn Queen’s people. It’s the price we pay for raising crops here.”

Crows circled in the sky above, chattering to themselves and God alone knew what else.

And he had thought Nosgoth was bad. “Why does anyone live here?”

“Mostly the benefits of living with magic are worth the trouble.” Dan looked to the sky. “Mostly.”

The crows dispersed. Only two remained, flying low over their heads. A signal to others, no doubt. Dan reached for his crossbow without slowing.

“What exactly do you intend to do with that thing?”

“If we don’t shoot them down we’ll be caught before we get through the next field.”

“Save your ammunition,” Raziel said.

He glared at the birds, letting his anger build, bringing it to a focus in his palm. He shot a telekinetic bolt at the nearest crow, sending it tumbling from the air. A twig-like arm reached out from among the corn and snatched it before it hit the ground. The other crow took its leave in a flurry of feathers.

“Useful, Dan commented distractedly. “Pity it won’t do us any good.”

A scarecrow was striding across the field towards them, apparently unhindered by the creatures that stalked the corn. It turned its head and grinned at them.

“Don’t just stand there,” Raziel snapped. “Run.”

Pushing his aching bones, wanting to gasp for air despite his lack of lungs, Dan set his eye upon the whitewashed buildings and ran as if his very soul depended on it. If his granny was right, it did.

The farm seemed to get no closer. He didn’t dare look back. The road was littered with ruts and potholes. He didn’t want to think about what would happen if he tripped. He heard Raziel say something and dart away to the right. Dan pirouetted awkwardly on the spot and ran after him. The scarecrow behind him tried to turn mid-strike and clattered into the fence.

Raziel stopped by a smouldering pile of rubbish. Somewhere on the farm a fence had been replaced, and the rotten planks of the old one had been piled up here to be burned. The damp wood sizzled and crackled as the flames licked feebly at it. He turned the pitchfork around and drove the handle into the heart of the fire. It smoked.

The figures beyond the firelight were getting closer. Dan looked from them to the wood which charred but would not light. He spanned his crossbow, then lay it on the ground. He fumbled for the hem of his shirt and tugged. The old wool tore. He wound a strip of the faded red fabric around the head of an arrow and held it to the flames.

Pupil-less amber eyes gleamed in the dark. A sound which may have been a hoarse laugh, or the rustling of hay, or the wind blowing across forgotten fields drifted from the darkness. The scarecrows moved closer.

With a hiss, the fabric caught light. Dan notched the arrow and sighted at the closest scarecrow. With a _thunk_ the bolt buried itself in the sacking of its head. The scarecrow jerked to a halt, reaching a hand to the spreading flames.

Dan didn’t waste time waiting to see if it had worked. He was already feverishly winding another strip of cloth around an arrow. Raziel turned the pitchfork’s shaft in the fire, listening to it crackle as he watched the dying scarecrow. It managed two vengeful steps towards them before falling, once again nothing more than wood and straw.

All but one of its fellows faded back into the night. One alone stepped forward, driven by vengeance or sheer hunger. It didn’t matter which. Another arrow, another scream heard more by the soul than the ears, and it fell lifeless to the ground.

Dan shouldered his crossbow and turned to leave before any more decided to try their luck. He saw the shadow moving out of the corner of his eye. Close, too close, the scarecrow reached for him with hands that would tear the life from his bones.

Another shape moved beside him, something whispered through the air, and Raziel was pushing him aside. In the same fluid motion, he stepped in front of the knight and thrust the blunt shaft of the pitchfork into the scarecrow’s chest.

It looked at the smouldering hole in its chest, then grinned. The scarecrow twisted free of the makeshift weapon and stepped inside Raziel’s reach. He struck it with his claws. They scraped across the wood of its arm and stuck there.

The edges of Raziel’s vision grew hazy. His mind slowed. The world lost its colour and faded into the blues and greys of the spectral realm. Daniel was shouting something, but it seemed far away. It didn’t matter. This was easier than to lose one’s soul to a sword. There was nothing to do but watch his life ebb away…

Raziel slumped. Dan stared at the malevolent, grinning face above him. It wasn’t a decision, no more than it had been that day a hundred years ago in the marshes. Raziel, the man he had promised to protect, was kneeling in the dust, silhouetted in the firelight and looking smaller than ever with his eyes closed and head bowed. And standing over him was that damned scarecrow; the light, _dry_ , scarecrow.

Dan threw himself at the creature. He felt a wave of dizziness as he hit it, but didn’t slow. Three steps, that was all he needed. Three steps and it would be in the fire. His vision dimmed. The scarecrow tumbled. With the last of his waning strength, he rolled off just before the scarecrow burst into flames.

Raziel stirred and shook himself. The stolen strength flowed back to him, slow but certain. He looked up at Dan’s outstretched hand blankly. After a moment, he took it and stood.

“I don't want to rush you,” Dan said, “but they won’t stay away for long.”

“I know.” Raziel took a deep, shaky, unnecessary breath, and pulled the charred pitchfork from the fire.

He may have said something more if the darkness around them hadn’t appeared less empty than before. Black wings fluttered. A dozen crows stared down at them from the eaves of the house. Another settled on a drystone wall. Something else watched from behind those eyes, something ancient and unknowable, mother of the land and keeper of its soul. Beyond the small circle of firelight, it waited. It had done so since the first seed had been planted here, and would remain until the last harvest had been gathered. It was patient. It could wait forever.

The knowledge dropped, chilly, into both their minds. With barely a thought, without a word passing between them, they fled through the crowded darkness, not slowing until the cawing of the crows was silenced and the fields of corn left far behind.


	7. Pumpkins and Broken Promises

In the scramble to get away, Dan hadn’t paid much attention to direction. All that mattered was that the road was long and wide and led away from the cornfields. As the road wound on, his steps became more hesitant.

“Raziel, I hate to tell you this, but I think we’ve gone the wrong way.”

“If you think for one moment I am going back through that place-”

“Not at this point. We can swing north through yon’ gorge without any problems. The path won’t be as good as this one, but it shouldn’t be too bad – my granny could still make the walk in her seventies. It’s just the right time of year to visit, too. The pumpkins are almost ripe for harvesting, the witches will be abroad warding grain stores against rats; any other time, we should have made a day of it.”

“You mean a time when all the old terrors have not awoken to stalk the living under an endless night?”

“Yes. And if I thought we’d meet anyone who was still alive.”

“Even if we did, I somehow doubt they would extend a warm welcome to us- ah!”

Raziel jumped backwards as something tumbled across the path towards him. He glared at the offending object, ignoring Dan’s poorly muffled sniggers. The pumpkin rolled to a stop and sat there, looking as innocent as a fruit can. He snorted in disgust and kicked it.

One rather damp explosion and a lot of screaming later, Raziel was surprised to discover that he still had a foot. It would probably have hurt less if he didn’t. Daniel was patting his shoulder. Perhaps it was meant to help somehow.

“Correct me if I am wrong,” he said shakily, “but I do not believe that pumpkins are supposed to do that.”

“Not normally,” Dan said. “The witches hexed some pumpkins into bombs during the last war with Zarok. I guess the variety’s still around.”

“The _last_ war with Zarok? How many times have you fought the man?”

“Well, alright, only one war if you don’t count our constant bickering at court, but I led two battles against him before, uh, coming a cropper.” It was true, he told himself. There was a difference between leading an army and actually fighting.

“The two of you sound to have something of a history,” Raziel said, trying to keep his mind off the hot, numb ache from his knee down.

“History, rivalry,” Dan waved his hand, “call it what you will. The two of us were the king’s favourites, his storyteller and his magician. Conflicting personalities doesn’t even begin to cover it. As bad as it sounds, I was almost glad when he was caught raising corpses. Made me feel less of a prick for hating a skinny old man.”

“But duplicitous old men are so easy to hate,” Raziel said. “And so much fun to torment.”

“I’ll take your word on that one. I never did anything worse than hide his lipstick.”

“Ah, I must introduce you to the joys of wizard baiting.” Raziel reached up his arms. “Now would you care to help me up?”

Dan took his hands and pulled. Raziel staggered, but got his balance, wincing as his injured foot met the ground. He looked down at the seed filled crater the pumpkin had left. “Are we likely to see more of those things?”

“Guess,” Dan said.

“I think telekinesis will be our friend here.”

“Or we could just avoid them.”

“Daniel, I have seen you trip over a pebble. There is no way in the world I am going to let you near exploding pumpkins.”

Dan considered the truth of this. “Okay.”

Slowly, with a certain amount of wincing, they made their way through the valley, skirting the abandoned farm carts and suspiciously lively vegetable patches.

Raziel flicked a stone at a pumpkin sitting by the fence. When it remained inanimate, he stepped forward, and would have swallowed his tongue if he had one. The pumpkin rose from the earth, soil fountaining up beneath it. As the soil fell away, he saw it was supported by a strong, thick stem about half a foot wide. A crack opened up in the pumpkin’s flesh. From it, a tongue like creeper flicked back and forth. Two pits in the fruit above it turned towards him like a pair of eyes.

He raised an arm as it lunged, momentarily thinking to wield the Soul Reaver. His hand remained as empty as when he awoke in the cemetery. In the moment’s pause a vine wrapped around his wrist and pulled. Raziel staggered. Green pulsing limbs reached for him.

A flash of silver passed across his vision and the vine loosened. Daniel swung his sword again, severing it completely. The pumpkin creature’s limbs retracted, covering its head like a closing flower.

Dan stepped in front of Raziel and sighted carefully. Green and brown vines writhed and tangled together. A flash of orange beneath. He thrust his sword in. The creature folded in on itself and collapsed soundlessly onto the earth.

Raziel tore the end of the vine from his wrist and shuddered. “More witch’s work?” he asked.

Dan shrugged. “If it is, we can ask her to call them off.”

“And she will listen, will she?” Raziel asked sourly.

“The Pumpkin Witch doesn’t like Zarok any more than we do. At the very least, she might give us something useful.”

“Like an exploding pumpkin?”

“Like a better weapon than a half burnt pitchfork.”

“Fine. Where can we find her?”

“Her cottage used to be by the trout pond. If she’s still around, that’s the best place to start looking.”

Working from century old memories, Dan took them down what he was pretty certain was the most direct route. He started to doubt the wisdom of this when he came to the boulder field. What he remembered as a brief scramble which hadn’t bothered him even as a kid was now a stone filled thicket of moving thorns and creepers.

The plants whipped at the travellers’ feet and wrapped around their ankles, and wouldn’t loosen their grip until they were torn off. Raziel hissed and slapped one away from his ruined wings. Bitter memories tangled into his thoughts, burrowing in more securely with every prying tendril. He wanted to scream from the weight of it on his mind, to strike one more blow against the dark god who had once owned him.

It was a couple of minutes before they dropped down onto the grass at the other side, but Raziel had to shake off centuries old thoughts as he followed Daniel across the lawn. He shook his head and tried to focus on the present. In a few hours, he would have a map and some sort of a plan to return to Nosgoth.

The house was small and squat, and could be described as either “quaint” or “a building regulation nightmare” depending on one’s view of slanting walls, twisting chimneys, and thatch that was more moss than hay. There were no signs of life visible through the small windows, but a cauldron sat outside, bubbling merrily away despite the lack of a fire to heat it.

Dan took out the witch talisman. “I hope this thing works. Just wave it over a cauldron and hope, you said?”

“In a sunwise circle,” Raziel said uncertainly.

Dan swung it a few times, wondering if he should say something. On the ninth rotation, without any fuss, a plump, motherly looking woman appeared. Her hat was the standard witch’s point, in grass green. It didn’t fail to clash with her bright orange robes.

“Greetings, kind sirs,” she said brightly, apparently unfazed by their skeletal appearance.

“Greetings,” Raziel said doubtfully.

Dan waved at her shyly.

“Oh, if it isn’t young Danny come back all this way! Your granny sends her love. Of course I had to put her back in the ground, but it was so nice to see her again.” She patted his hand.

“Thanks,” he mumbled. “Erm, you can’t do anything about all these pumpkins, can you?”

I’m afraid not, dearie. It’s that nasty old big pumpkin. He’s such a bad influence on the young seedlings. Running around causing mischief, I don’t know.” She shook her head at the state of young fruit these days, then brightened up. “But if you teach him a lesson in manners, I might be able to fill up that soul cup of yours so you can get a nice present.”

“How do you know about-” Dan began, but she hushed him.

“Off you go now, dear.”

She pointed them in the direction of a pumpkin that must have been twelve feet tall and just as wide, then vanished with as little fuss as she has arrived.

“Friend of the family,” Dan said helplessly. “You know how it is.”

Raziel supposed Janos could broadly be considered that. “Yes, I believe I do.”

The pumpkin remained resolutely inanimate as they approached. Raziel aimed a kick at the stem, thought better of it, and threw a telekinetic bolt of energy at it. The fruit moved not an inch. Dan hacked at one of the surrounding stems with his sword. The pumpkin sat there, ripening slightly.

“To hell with this,” Raziel growled. “Daniel, pass me that talisman.”

Dan did so. Raziel snatched it, stalked back to the cauldron and waved it.

The moment the Pumpkin Witch appeared, he started talking. “Save me the speech about your precious seedlings. Just tell me what the hell we are supposed to do with that thing.”

“Oh, someone’s in a bad mood. You need to mash his pod sacks, dearie.” She patted him on the head and disappeared.

Raziel didn’t look any happier upon his return. He shoved the talisman back towards Dan. “What is a pod sack and how do we mash it?”

“Erm...” Dan scanned his scant horticultural knowledge. “The green bulging bits in the vines I think.”

“Very well.” The wraith started shredding the bulbous green pod sacks with his bare claws.

Dan stepped back as bits of plant matter went flying.

“Uh, Raziel... _Raziel!”_

The wraith looked up, his claws still buried in the vine. He froze.

Vines rose from the soil and thrashed blindly in the air. A jagged crack opened across the bottom half of the enormous fruit, and the Pumpkin King screamed.

“I believe I may have made an error,” Raziel said faintly. He backed away, picking up the fallen pitchfork as he did so, more for the comfort a weapon gave than a belief it would do any good.

Dan drew his sword back, trying to keep all the encroaching tendrils in his field of view. One struck at him from the right. He turned and deflected it, opening up a long wound as he did so. There were so many more to take its place, it didn’t fell like a success.

Even more were congregating on Raziel. The moment one touched him, the wraith’s building panic overflowed. He threw the pitchfork at the body of the pumpkin, where it stuck.

The tendrils fell still for a moment. Some inhuman cry came from its mouth. Then all its attention turned upon him.

Pulsing green vines wrapped around him, choking and constricting like a nest of snakes. _Like the dark god at the base of the Pillars._ Raziel thrashed and fought without a thought in his mind except for the barely coherent hope that Daniel would kill the hellish thing while it was distracted.

The vines holding him loosened. Raziel hissed in triumph. It turned into a growl when he saw Daniel hacking at the base of the vines.

“Idiot!” he shouted, choking back a sob. “Hit the pumpkin! _The damn pumpkin, Daniel, now!”_

To his credit, Dan only hesitated a moment before he turned and ran towards the overgrown fruit. The thing was still distracted by Raziel, and he thrust his sword into it with barely a struggle. It sank in to the hilt.

The Pumpkin King screeched. Dan was thrown aside as it thrashed in pain, his sword still buried in its side. Raziel was tossed into the air, forgotten as it focused its attention on this new threat.

Raziel landed heavily on the dome of the pumpkin. He dug all four sets of claws into it and clung on, eyes closed, until he stopped shaking.

Dan scrambled back to his feet. His sword glinted as it moved to and fro with the fruit’s movements. There were vines to either side, fast approaching. He lunged. His hand grasped the hilt and momentum tore it from the flesh. He was rewarded with another cry of pain.

Tendrils swung at him. Dan ducked back. His sword scratched across the pumpkin’s skin, a trail of juice following it.

Above him, Raziel was clawing at the fruit, tearing chunks out where he could without risking getting thrown off. More tendrils flailed at both of them, but barely half came close to landing a blow.

The Pumpkin King’s wounds turned brown and opened wider with a speed greater than anything ruled by merely nature. It cried out, higher than before and harsher. Bruises spread across its skin. The vines waved weakly, falling to the ground one by one.

“Ha! Take that, you overgrown vegetable!” Giddy from victory, Dan leapt into the air and brought his sword down through the side of the pumpkin.

The fruit collapsed in on itself, taking Raziel with it. There was a squelch and a shower of pith.

“Urgh.” Raziel raised his head and tried to comb the rotten pumpkin from his hair. He looked at his hand in disgust and shook off the strings of pith.

“Sorry. Here, let me...” Dan offered his hand, slipped, and fell face first into the mess.

“Excellent. So helpful.”

Raziel helped him back to his feet on his second try, and, together, trailing pumpkin juice, they made their way back to the cottage.

The Pumpkin Witch reappeared without any need for the talisman. She clapped her plump hands together. “A most edifying spectacle! Man and vegetable in a magnificent duel to the death! Oh my, but I can’t let you go around like that, can I?”

She waved her hands in a complex pattern, and to the relief of all involved, the remnants of putrefying vegetable matter vanished.

“Now,” she said, “let me see that cup of yours.”

Dan held out the chalice to her. She snapped her fingers, filling it with a green light. The chalice glowed as it had in the mausoleum, and the world fell away once more.

“Fortesque, you jawless arrow magnet,” a voice barked. “What are you doing back in the land of the living?”

This wasn’t Canny Tim, slight and soft spoken. It was the imperious voice of a general. The man had the build of a wrestler and the arrogance of an emperor, and he did not sound happy.

“Oh, hello Woden,” Dan mumbled.

“What? Call me _Mister_ Woden the Mighty! How I pity the people of Gallowmere – that their fate should once again rest in the hands of a chump like you!”

“Explain,” Raziel said. It was not so much a command as a certain statement of the immediate future.

“He hasn’t told you, has he? Fortesque always was good at taking people in. He spent most of his time organising the changing of the guard and playing croquet with the king. Only one victory to his name, and he was cut down in that fight before he’d drawn his first blood. Why, if it wasn’t for you, Zarok would be using his ribcage for a toast rack by now.”

Raziel looked to Daniel.

“First volley of arrows,” he mumbled.

“Here,” Woden said. “Take my sword, you poor bastard. It will do you more good than he ever could.”

Raziel took the broadsword gingerly. “It is hardly a crime to be struck down by chance.”

“No, no, it’s not that,” Dan said before Woden could answer. “At least, not just that. If I’d had the chance, I would have fled. I wasn’t on that battlefield by choice.”

“You wouldn’t have been there at all if you’d been honest for one day of your life,” Woden cut in.

Dan shook his head. He couldn’t argue. “It all just got out of hand.”

“ _What_ got out of hand?” Raziel asked.

“My stories. I only wanted to entertain the king, but he ended up believing me. All those tales of dragon slayings, manticores and hydras, and I’d never so much as set foot on the mainland in my life. I was some grand hero in his eyes. Before I knew it I’d been made Captain of the Guard, and then I was on the battlefield-”

“-leading men to their deaths,” Raziel finished. “And what do you want from me? My soul? My death? Am I to be your unwitting tool as I was to all the rest?”

“No! No. I just wanted to get you away safely. I thought I could help you and defeat Zarok and save the day and somehow make up for everything I did wrong. He raised hell on that marsh a hundred years ago. I don’t want Gallowmere to have to see that again.”

“I have been through a hell you could not fathom, Daniel Fortesque, and you, _you,_ believe that you deserve your chance at redemption?” Raziel’s shoulders sank under the weight of centuries. _Why you and not me? After everything, why was I denied a chance at saving them?_

Raziel snatched the chalice from the witch and marched away to the north, ignoring the skeletal charlatan stumbling along behind him.


	8. The Sleeping Village

The Mayor of Gallows Town reeled from the sudden slap to his face.

“I’m going to ask you again,” Zarok said, “and I hope for your sake that you will be more inclined to answer. Where is the Shadow Artefact?”

“The wha-”

Long nails bit into his skin as Zarok struck him again. “You needn’t try to play the fool with me. I know how this goes. Three keys to the kingdom. The Crown, the Chalice, and the Artefact – one to the king, one to the witches, and one to the Mayor of Gallows Town. Monarch, mage, and common man. I had hoped to retrieve them without bloodshed, but if you force my hand...”

He drew a knife from the folds of his skirt. The mayor closed his eyes. He hoped he wouldn’t give Zarok the satisfaction of hearing him scream.

When the blow never came, he opened them again. Zarok was spinning the knife idly as he spoke to one of the mechanical monstrosities he called the boiler guards.

“I can’t be bothered with this. You have your orders. I have an army that needs waking.” He leaned over the mayor. “We’ll see if a few days on a starvation diet will make him more inclined to talk. We won’t be in any danger of killing him,” he added with a sneer and a poke at the mayor’s portly stomach.

“You can’t do this,” the mayor protested as he was dragged away. “People rely on me, they do…”

His voice faded as he was marched off into the night.

*

“Raziel, please listen.”

The figure in front continued walking.

“You can hate me all you like, but please let me explain.”

Dan stumbled over a wheel rut and jogged a few steps to keep up.

“I never meant any harm, I swear.”

Raziel stopped so suddenly that Dan walked into him.

“Never meant any harm? _Never meant any harm?_ Is that what you told the families of those you led to the slaughter?”

“I wish I’d been able to. Look, I was a storyteller, that’s all I thought I’d ever be. The king liked me, so he made me a captain in peacetime. Before Zarok revealed himself to be a traitor I’d only ever fought in tournaments. And then, well, the people needed a hero, and I was there. What else could I do?”

“How long was there,” Raziel asked, “between Zarok’s banishment and the battle for the realm?”

“A few years, but why-”

“Long enough for honestly.” Raziel’s eyes grew distant as he focused on something which could not be seen by mortal means. “Where I come from, you would have been executed if you had lived. You would have had long enough to wish, as your bones were burned clean of flesh, for all the ways you could have died in battle.”

Raziel had wished for many things at his own execution. He had received none of them.

Dan reached out his hand, the beginning of a reply strangling itself before the first syllable left his skull. He let his hand fall. Raziel had already turned away and entered the town walls without him.

“So its secret is out at last, is it?” a voice rasped from the shadows.

Dan ignored it.

“But hold, it doesn’t know of the villagers,” the second gargoyle said. “Poor things – the Master has stolen their will. They will attack it, try to kill it."

The first one laughed. "We hopes we gets to see.” Its glowing eyes fixed on him, a cruel grin twisting its stone face.

Dan started running. Raziel’s anger at him was one thing, but he wouldn’t let it be a catalyst for murder.

He stopped at the first corner as a vacant eyed man lurched past, a long meat cleaver in his hand. Whatever dark magic controlled him allowed him little more thought than the zombies in Zarok’s thrall. He walked past the cowering knight without glancing towards him.

The next street was empty except for an elderly woman humming quietly to herself as she beat a statue over and over with a fireplace poker. More fragments of stone fell off it even as Dan crept by, the noise masking his footsteps as he continued down the darkened streets.

He found Raziel standing in an ornamental fountain, trying to reason with an axe wielding six year old.

“What would your parents say if they knew you were abroad at this time of night?”

The girl giggled and swung the axe again, taking a chip out of the stonework by Raziel’s feet.

“I have done battle with dark gods, child. If I had a mind to, I could kill you where you stand.”

She laughed at that, too, and made another clumsy yet optimistic swing with her axe.

“ _Will you stop that!”_

“It’s no good,” Dan said from behind her. “Zarok’s possessed her, along with everyone else in the village, so the gargoyle says. She won’t stop until- oh shit!”

The girl turned around and, seeing an easier target, ran towards him, axe in hand. Dan fled.

Several rather crowded minutes later, he joined Raziel on the fountain. After a brief kicking, he got the message and moved further around.

“I know I’m not great with kids,” Dan said, “but this is beyond the pail.”

Raziel scrambled further up the ornamental stone fish to avid a wild swing of the axe. “I would thank you to either say something useful or to acquaint yourself with the great gift that is silence.”

Dan shut up.

A minute passed. The girl showed no sign of losing interest. Dan edged around the fountain, trying to find a position where water wasn’t being poured straight down the back of his neck. The girl followed him. He moved back the other way. So did she.

“Um, Raziel?”

“Yes,” he answered tersely.

“Can you see that slate roofed building just down from the pub?”

A pause, then, “Yes.”

“That’s the library. If I distract the girl, you should have a clear run for it. There should be some map or something that can show you the way home.”

There was a longer pause. Raziel’s claws tapped against the stone. “No. It would be a poor state of affairs if we could not both outrun a small child encumbered with a heavy axe. If you are determined to follow me, I should like you where I can see you.”

Dan sighed in relief. “Count of three?” he suggested.

On ‘three’, Raziel skidded across the plaza, his claws kicking up sparks. A metallic clatter to one side suggested that Dan was keeping pace. In a couple of strides, the knight had overtaken him, but not before reaching back for his hand. Raziel slapped him away and tumbled through the library’s open door. Dan slammed it shut behind them and slid the bolts home. There was a thud from the other side and a muffled sob.

Raziel picked up a book at random and glanced at the title. _A Tourist’s Guide to Gallowmere._ He flicked through it, hoping one page would contain a map. Random passages caught his eye, but none appeared to be of any use. “ _...spawning ground of Dragon Toads… the town vanished, leaving its secrets drowned beneath the lake… Dragon whose horde is worth more than gold and more rare to win… The king’s ghost still wanders the halls of the abandoned castle…_ They must believe their readers gullible to be taken in by such nonsense,” he muttered.

Outside, there were the sounds of a distant scuffle and muffled shouts. Some poor soul caught by the town’s hypnotised populace, no doubt. It only became relevant to him when it was accompanied by a pounding on the door.

Raziel reached for Woden’s broadsword. Before his hand met the hilt, the door splintered in as if it had been hit by a cannonball. Dan shouted something, but his words were drowned out by the ringing in Raziel’s ears. Whatever he had said, it was of less importance than the thing that was marching through the door.

Automata were not unknown in Nosgoth, but this was a different breed of thing. A suit of armour given life by fire and magic, and a metal skull in place of a face. It carried a hand cannon which swung towards him like a compass needle pointing north.

Raziel stared into the fires flickering in its eyes, frozen, not daring to shift his gaze to the skeletal figure looming up behind it. Its finger tightened on the trigger. He threw himself to the side.

Dan brought his sword down two handed over the boiler guard’s head. The sheet metal caved in, the guard fell, but the fires within still burned. He spun his sword around and drove the point down through a gap in the metal plates of its torso. The flames faded and died.

Raziel hauled himself upright with the help of the bookcase that the small cannonball had smashed through. Another piece of wood came away in his hand. He dropped it and snatched up the creature’s soul before it could be taken by the chalice. Not human, nor demon, but something altogether other. It still healed the slight graze across his ribs where the projectile had caught him.

“Raziel, are you hurt?”

He made a non-committal noise and stepped into the space behind the bookcase.

There was silence for a few moments, then, “Come here.”

Raziel still sounded far from happy, but if he was willing to initiate conversation, Dan wasn’t going to ruin things again. He followed Raziel into the narrow, dimly lit space.

Behind the bookcase was a clay cast of a crucifix roughly four feet tall with a note pinned to it. Raziel plucked it off and read it aloud.

“‘ _To whom it may concern,’”_ he began, _“‘I must make haste, for Zarok’s men will be here within the hour. I have taken the crucifix from the church – it is the key to a key. I used the cross to make the attached cast, then I had it destroyed. It is my hope that this cast falls into the hands of a just and good hero. Signed, the Town Mayor.’_ Why he thought such a thing was a good idea, we may never know.”

Raziel shook his head. He dropped the note to the ground and picked up the cast. “I saw a smithy by the town gates. A mere casting should not present an insurmountable obstacle.”

“Those metal monsters must be all over town. You can’t lug that thing around with you, you’ll be killed!” Dan protested.

“I would sooner risk my life for an unknown man of honour than a failed knight with none,” Raziel said coldly.

“A man of- Raziel, you don’t know him! Neither of us do.”

“I did say ‘unknown’.” Raziel continued to manoeuvre the cast out of the cubbyhole, despite Dan’s protestations.

“Look at it like this,” Dan said as he lifted up the other end to help it around the corner. “We’re in agreement that Zarok needs to be stopped, right?”

“...Agreed,” Raziel admitted reluctantly.

“And doing that will be easier if we work together, right?”

“Fine. But understand that we are barely allies, and certainly not friends.”

“Of course.”

Raziel nodded curtly. “Then you know where we stand. Can you see any more of the guards outside?”

The streets were quiet by the time they ventured out. There were distant shouts, somewhere a dog barked, but the arrival of Zarok’s boiler guards had effectively cleared the streets. Even encumbered by a four foot high cast, it was easy enough to reach the forge undetected. The fire was still glowing beneath a layer of ash, and it was the work of minutes to build it up again and set the cast beside it.

“Now what?” Dan asked.

Raziel shrugged. He flicked through a cheap, poorly woodcut magazine left on the bench in the hope that it would bring enlightenment. It didn’t.

“Don’t crucibles come into it somewhere?” Dan hazarded.

“Possibly. Bronze should be a suitable material, should it not?”

“It’s worth a try.”

Raziel scattered some bronze nuggets onto the cast, roughly following the shape of the cross. He added a couple more, then swept the lot into what Dan was fairly sure was a suitably sized crucible. Taking a pair of tongs, he manoeuvred the crucible into the heart of the fire.

They waited.

They waited some more.

“I thought the hard parts of smithing were shoeing wild stallions and forging swords, not just melting a bit of bloody metal.” Dan pumped the bellows a few more times, waiting for the bronze to do anything at all.

Raziel didn’t answer. He was staring at the metal as if trying to melt it by the force of his glare.

Eventually, the bronze bubbled and melted to the bottom of the crucible.

Dan picked up the tongs and glanced at Raziel’s claws. “Who do you think would make the least mess of this?”

Raziel raised an eyebrow. “You have to ask?”

Dan passed them over.

Raziel picked up the crucible with the tongs, started to tip it over the cast, and dropped it. Droplets of molten metal showered the floor, the cast, and the wraith.

Before the first breath of cursing ended, Dan tossed a pail of water in Raziel’s general direction. There was a startled noise, a hiss of cooling metal, and a cloud of steam.

“Have I ruined it?” Dan asked as he stepped forward, waving a hand to dissipate the steam.

“Probably,” Raziel said absently. “Either that or I have.” He tested the temperature of the mould, hissed and drew back his hand.

With a little patience and a lot of brute force, the misshapen crucifix was removed for inspection.

“It will do,” Raziel said.

“If not, we’re in trouble.”

“I suspect we are regardless. Or at least, you are.”

“Thanks,” Dan said bitterly and followed him out into the night.

*

The church was a small stone building tucked away by the town gates. Dan didn’t remember it looking much different when he was alive. There were the same rows of old but well cared for pews, the altar was laid with a cloth and candles ready for a service, and there was a large gap on the wall where the crucifix should have been. That was new.

He pointed it out to Raziel, who lifted the cross into place on the hooks in the wall. There was a click and a section of stone slid away, revealing an alcove with a key and a note.

Dan squinted at the writing in the candlelight and began to read it aloud.

About three words in, Raziel snatched it off him. “Give that here. I have had quite enough of your mumbling.”

“‘ _Dear Sir or Madam,’”_ he began, reading from the start of the letter.

“‘ _On my travels across Gallowmere I have come across many mysterious and enchanting finds. However, that which filled me with deepest dread was the discovery of the Tomb of the Shadow Demons. The key to their dank prison, the mysterious Shadow Artefact, remains in my possession. For now._

“‘ _That dress wearing bully boy-’”_ Raziel paused, brow creasing. “In what way are dresses pertinent to demons?”

Dan didn’t know how to explain that in normal circumstances, let alone to an angry wraith from goodness knew where. Still, he gave it his best shot. “Erm, well, you know Tim? Of course you do- no, it’s not like that. Um, some men are more comfortable wearing women’s clothes-”

“Oh, gendered presentation,” Raziel said with mild distaste. “We mostly did away with that by the second century of the empire.”

He waved a hand dismissively and continued reading. _“‘Zarok will stop at nothing to retrieve this item. I fear he already knows that it is I who possess it…_

_Yours, fearfully – the Town Mayor.’”_

“The Shadow Demons,” Dan said. “That’s bad. Look, I know you don’t want anything more to do with me, but if Zarok gets his hands on those things again, we’ll all be in trouble.”

Raziel didn’t look up from the paper. He knew full well what demons could do to a world – damage that a thousand determined mortal fools could not match. If he was to aid this mayor, much as it galled him to admit it, he would need Daniel’s help.

“Fine. Just don’t slow me down.”

*

They crept along the empty streets towards the mayor’s residence, Raziel easily hearing the heavy footed guards long before they were seen. The wraith held up a hand and peered around the wall. Half a dozen of Zarok’s men were milling about on the lawn, arguing about how to gain entry. Raziel relayed the information to Dan in a whisper.

He groaned. “We’ve got a key to the safe but not the house. If we try to fight that many guards at once, we’re going to die. Again. Do you have a plan?”

Raziel looked from the house to the guards and back again. “Yes, but you are not going to like it.”

He told him. He didn’t like it.

Whispered bickering came from the back of the house as Raziel hoisted Dan over the wall. They dropped onto the grass with varying degrees of grace and hurried to the shade of the eaves. Raziel climbed easily onto the outhouse and jumped to the roof of the house. Dan scrambled up after him and just about managed not to fall off.

“Come _on_ ,” Raziel snapped and hopped down the chimney.

Dan stared uncertainly down after him. There were few things he wanted to do less than leap into the unknown depths.

There was a cry from below and a cannonball missed him by inches. Dan jumped.

He landed in the hearth with a clang. Raziel turned around, the Shadow Artefact already in his hand.

“There you are. Here. Now get under the damn table.” He nearly threw the unpleasant looking thing at Dan, who juggled it for a moment before catching it fully.

“Wait. You should keep it. You said it yourself – you’re the competent one here. If anyone is going to risk capture, it should be me. It’s not like I’ve ever been good for much but a distraction.”

Raziel paused. He stared at Daniel for a few seconds longer than was comfortable before answering. “Exactly. With your pitiful skills you would be caught before you reached the end of the street. Keep the artefact safe and keep yourself out of the fray. You appear to be good at that,” he added.

Dan wanted to argue. He wanted to help. He wanted some proof that he would see Raziel again after they got out of this. But more than anything, he didn’t want to fight the metal creatures hammering at the door. Silently, he hid the Shadow Artefact under his breastplate and hid as best he could beneath the large table against one wall.

He heard Raziel pull the bolt back. There were shouts, the sound of pounding feet, cursing in a voice he didn’t recognise. He started at the gunshot, listening for a cry of pain that didn’t come.

“After him!” one of the guards shouted.

Dan stayed where he was until their footsteps had faded into the distance. He crawled stiffly out from under the table and almost fell back down when his foot skidded on a fallen piece of paper. He picked it up and was about to leave it on the table when a couple of words caught his eye. He skimmed through the rest of it, shoved it into his breastplate, and ran.

Raziel met him outside the town walls, bedraggled and limping. The wraith saw his expression and answered the unspoken question.

“I had to dive into the river to get away. Something hit me on the way down.” He rubbed the back of his head. “Much good may it do the Mayor. God knows what they will have done with him.”

“That’s one thing I’m good for, anyway,” Dan said and passed over the paper. “One of the guards must have dropped it.”

Raziel squinted at the spidery writing. _“Capture that greedy profiteer the Town Mayor. Take him to the Asylum dungeons. Give the fat boy a good going over. Locate the Shadow Artefact. Bring me back something nice. ~Zarok x.”_

He turned the message over, but that was all. “Luck of the devil,” he muttered. “I suppose you had better lead the way.”


	9. The Asylum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the boys show their wonderful capacity for problem solving. Warning for less than modern attitudes to mental illness.

The road was long, but wide and well lit by the waning moon. The coniferous forest to the left of the path drank in the moonlight, leaving yawning darkness. Branches rustled in the still air.  Raziel was a few yards  in front , looking at nothing but the road ahead.  Dan kept his hand on his sword and his eye on the trees. Despite the half heard chittering and shifting shadows, nothing allowed itself to be seen  in moonlight .  It had been the same for hours,  and the sight of the asylum  walls rising up above the treeline did nothing to calm his nerves.

Dan’s attention was fixed so firmly on the forest, the branches swaying in ways they shouldn’t, that he didn’t notice the boiler guard until it was too late. It was standing by a crossroads and looking thoroughly lost until it looked up and shouted. It raised its gun and fired. Raziel fell.

Daniel started running. Raziel didn’t know where he was going, and frankly he didn’t care. At that moment, pain was at the centre of his world. Hesitantly, he raised a hand to the wound. The left side of his ribcage was a mess of fractured bone, oozing with blue blood. He could feel his soul losing its grip on his body, but the world remained resolutely mortal. There was no spectral realm to catch him, only oblivion. At last.

Something nudged him. Bleary eyes focused on Daniel, and Raziel groaned. He hadn’t even the energy to wave him away. Raziel resigned himself to not spending his last few moments in peace.

“Raziel, for God’s sake. I killed it. Take its soul before the chalice does.”

Raziel grunted. He pulled down his cowl with shaking claws and swallowed the soul in a flash of light. Slowly, the pain receded as his flesh knitted itself back together.

“Can you stand?”

“I… believe so.”

Leaning on Daniel more than his pride would like as his body healed, Raziel followed his lead to the asylum.

The building was on a small rise in the ground, at the centre of well tended gardens. The gates to the grounds lay open. As soon as the unwilling allies stepped through them, they swung shut and locked themselves with a nasty little click.

Raziel pulled at them experimentally, more out of hope than expectation. They didn’t move an inch. 

Dan gulped quietly, but they had no choice but to continue. He set off down the path. The hedges were clipped into fantastic designs of unicorns and dragons and stars. He swore some of them turned to look at him as he passed.

At least the monks still ran the place. One was walking peacefully down the gravel path ahead, spade in hand. Dan ran to catch up with him.

Tapping him on the shoulder, he began, “Excuse me, Brother, have you- ergh!”

He jumped backwards as the spade was swung at his head. The hooded figure turned. Dan caught a glimpse of dead, sunken eyes in a pallid face before the spade was raised again. He knocked it aside with his sword.

Even men of the cloth weren’t spared Zarok’s curse. He stepped back, not wanting to strike the blow he knew he must.

Raziel was a blue blur, pushing past him roughly. He stepped smartly out of the way of the spade and swung his sword at neck height.

He tutted as the monk fell. “There is nothing left of them in their minds. Do not let the corpse sway your judgement or it may be your bones lying on the grass.”

“I know. It’s just...” Dan shook his head.

“Easier to say,” Raziel finished. “As are so many things,” he added, not quite under his breath.

The walled garden opened out into a round area with a stone head carved into one wall. It was to gargoyles as dragons were to frogs; handsome, bearded, and decorated in a spray of carved leaves.

His eyes opened as the pair approached. “Greetings, gentlemen. I am Jack of the Green, master of this maze. You, of course, need no introduction – the chattering gargoyles speak of you constantly. Their master has barred the entrance to the asylum most securely, but I can grant you access to another way inside. Four riddles will guide you there. Their answers will show you the way.”

“Couldn’t you just tell us?” Dan asked.

“And where would be the entertainment in that? Find the solution and find your path,” Jack said. _“At night they come without being fetched, by day they are lost without being stolen.”_

“Darkness, the moon, shadows? Are we searching for some shaded corner?” Raziel asked.

“I think I know,” Dan said. “There was a bush back here somewhere.”

He wandered off, not waiting to check if Raziel was following, and stopped by a small topiary star.

“There we are. Stars.”

“Yes, it is a star. Can your fine military mind figure out what to do with it?”

“I thought you were meant to be the brains of this operation.” Dan poked the star with his sword. Nothing happened.

“I see another by those raised flower beds,” Raziel offered grudgingly. “We may be searching for one in particular.”

The other star shrub was equally inanimate when prodded. Of the two paths leading away from it, one had another star at the far corner. They set out towards it.

“Very good.” Jack’s voice spoke from empty air. “But the stars can only guide you so far. The riddle for the gate is as follows: _I live for laughter, I live for the crowd. Without them I am nothing.”_

“Any ideas?” Dan asked.

“Not one,” Raziel said.

They followed the path of stars between hedges and herb gardens, occasionally hampered by the corpses of the monks who once tended them.

Raziel stopped by a paved area of chequered tiles. “This may well be what we are looking for.” He nudged one of the foot high playing pieces, which protested with a squeak. “Chessmen have no life but that which the players give them. We may be expected to play a game.”

“Yes, but ‘I live for laughter and the crowd’? Have you ever laughed during a chess game?”

“Once, when my brother Dumah thought to challenge Rahab.” His eyes creased in fondness, yet pain still tinted the memory.

“You played a lot?” Dan hazarded, grasping at the chance of a conversation which wouldn’t turn to bitterness.

“Not for many centuries. In recent years I have gained a certain sympathy for the pawns.” He stared at the board then shook his head.

“They won’t move anyway,” Dan said. “I can see something over that beech hedge. Come on.”

He gently tugged Raziel’s arm. The wraith shrugged him off, but followed. The ‘something’ was a topiary jester standing in front of a stone wall, watched by a semicircle of frowning bronze masks.

“This looks like our answer,” Dan said.

“But what does it do?”

Dan poked about a bit at the topiary. “I think there’s a doorway behind here.”

He tried hacking at it with his sword. The blade rebounded, spinning him around as he tried to control its arc.

“ _Don’t_ try that again, please,” Raziel said from the ground several paces back.

“I don’t plan to.” Dan sheathed his sword. He started poking at the wall. Amazingly, it was solid masonry.

Raziel prodded one of the masks. It spun around slowly.

“Odd.”

He spun it around again. He knelt down and peered through the spaces through the eyes and frowning mouth. He turned it slowly and the smiling face came into view, the wall opposite still visible through its open mouth.

“Good thinking,” Dan said from behind him. “I’ll turn the ones on this side the right way.”

Raziel tilted his head as Daniel rotated the smiling faces towards the jester. “I live for laughter,” he murmured. Of course.

When the topiary jester was surrounded by smiling bronze faces it laughed and danced aside, leaving the small archway clear. Dan ducked through, Raziel just behind him.

“Yes, yes, very clever I’m sure,” Jack said testily. “You will not find my next puzzler so simple. _Face like a tree, skin like the sea. A great beast I be, yet vermin frighten me.”_

Dan snorted. “Simple. I thought everyone knew that elephants are afraid of mice.”

“And we are going to find both of those in this maze, are we?”

Dan shrugged. “There’s another star this way. Keep your eyes open. Chin up.”

Raziel scowled and tugged at his cowl.

“Sorry. Poor choice of words.”

“For you and I both. Come along.”

The stars vanished in favour of a topiary menagerie. Crawling ivy covered the trellis of a giraffe’s neck, lions snarled through a mane of leaves, and a rose bush trimmed into the shape of an elephant rose high above their heads.

Dan patted its trunk, lightly spiking himself in the process. “Here’s our elephant. Now we need a mouse.”

Raziel nodded. His eyes glazed. His ears twitched. The wraith’s head turned towards a patch of shrubbery, and he leapt like a cat.

A few seconds later he stood back up with something clasped in his hands.

“How in the- Do you seriously have a mouse there.”

“Yes,” Raziel said flatly.

“How?”

“I caught it.”

“But how- never mind. You’ve got it, that’s what matters.”

“I suppose that I should show it to the elephant,” Raziel hazarded. There had been enough flowers turning to watch them on their path that it didn’t seem unreasonable.

The wraith stood in front of the elephant and hesitantly opened his hands. The topiary creature reared and trumpeted. Raziel winced and covered his ears. The mouse shot out of his hands and disappeared back into the foliage as the elephant turned and lumbered away in the opposite direction, knocking the wall down as it went.

“Erm,” Dan began.

“Well.” Raziel shook himself.

Dan pointed to the fallen stonework with a shaking finger. “You don’t suppose we’re supposed to go through that hole?”

“So I would surmise.” Raziel took an approximation of a deep breath and stepped through. Dan clambered after him onto a little tree lined walk which led to a low stone building with a torch burning on either side of its door.

A familiar voice spoke to them. “Did you spot my bluff?” Jack asked. “I pretended that riddle was hard, but in truth it was obviously an elephant. This time, however, I almost pity you. Are you ready, gentlemen, to fall at the final hurdle?”

“Get on with it,” Dan said.

“Very well.” Jack cleared his throat. _“I tolerate the moon and stars, I can’t abide the sun. Banish me with torchlight, and you’ll see me turn and run.”_

Raziel started rattling off possibilities as they approached the building.“Shadows? No, they require light. Stars have already been a solution...”

The stone door swung open at his touch. Just inside, dusty steps led down into the earth.He stopped just on the edge of the moonlight, the steps leading down into unseen darkness. “Or vampires.”

Dan took a torch from its bracket and peered down the stairway. The rough masonry stretched away far beyond the reach of the torchlight. “You think so?”

“It is… a possibility,” Raziel said, amazed that his own voice remained level.

“Then stay behind me. They shouldn’t be able to do much to bare bones.”

Dan took a hesitant step forward, but Raziel caught his arm. “They may be my kinsfolk. Please, allow me.”

Dan stood aside and let him take the lead.

Half a minute of careful descent brought them to a small stone chamber less than ten paces square. Raziel didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved that it was empty. Each wall had a stained glass window, quite functionless in the subterranean darkness. It was fine glasswork to be hidden down here. Four different phases of the moon gleamed down from four glazed skies.

Dan raised his torch to the one closest. As the flame was reflected in the glass, the colours changed from dark to light. The window showed the sun blazing in a clear blue sky. He lowered the torch and the vision faded.

“I think I’ve found our answer.”

“We will need more light. Wait here.” Raziel retreated back up the stairs and returned a few minutes later with a handful of fallen twigs and small branches.

He gathered them into bunches, lit them from Daniel’s torch, and paused.

“There aren’t any brackets, I’ve checked. Try balancing them on the window sills,” Dan said.

Raziel nodded. He reached up. He stretched. He stood on his tiptoes. He jumped, and still got no closer to reaching his goal.

“Don’t say a word,” he growled as Dan went to help him.

“I wouldn’t dare.”

Raziel watched Daniel light up the windows. As the last one turned from night to day, the walls fell away, revealing a wide subterranean passage.

“Blast you! It took me forever to think of that darkness one!” Jack said. He sighed. “Outrageous as it seems, my vast intellect has been matched by your badly decomposed brains. Nevertheless, I am true to my word. This tunnel will take you into the undercroft. From there you can find your own way.”

“The undercroft? You mean the place full of the undead?” Dan snapped. “You could have thought to mention that.”

“And ruin the surprise?” Jack said. “Good luck.”

“Of all the arrogant, insufferable, self satisfied braggarts,” Raziel muttered. He huffed. “Swords out, Daniel.”

They met the first revenant before the end of the corridor. The dead woman’s hair was matted with blood, and her chin was stained red-brown with the same. She reached out an arm to them.

Raziel’s sword took it off in one swing, and the mindless creature appeared not to even notice. She lurched forward again and lost her head as soon as she came within range.

There were more – too many more. Wandering without purpose or direction, the dead no one had claimed stalked the only place that had welcomed them in life.

A corpse lay on the floor, barely covered by a white shift. Dan bowed his head and skirted around them. Raziel couldn’t concern himself with a single dead human. He stepped over it.

A hand closed around his ankle. Raziel screamed. The corpse pulled itself towards him, mouth open.

Dan’s sword came down hard on its cranium. Its grip loosened and it slumped.

Raziel shook his foot free, suppressing a shudder. “Thank you,” he said without looking at Daniel.

Half a waking nightmare later, there were stairs leading up to a heavy door, and the undercroft was left behind. The asylum proper was all grim whitewashed stone and cold flagstones, but at least there was the light of the lamps, hung high out of the reach of searching fingers, and no blood on the walls.

Raziel shivered. “I have only known the spectral realm to look so bleak.”

“It’s not a nice place, but it’s needed. As long as demons attack people’s minds, and there are elf-touched folks, someone needs to take care of them. Here it’s the Order of Saint Dymphna.”

“We did not even have that. The mad of Nosgoth are left to wander as they will. They were not demon hounded, not in the physical sense, but it was understood to be the...” Raziel waved his hands. “The shape of one’s mind, something physical in the brain. The humours become unbalanced and so do the thoughts.”

Dan shrugged. “Common wisdom said demons, but that doesn’t mean the same as true. It could be both. Or neither.”

He peered through the barred window set into a door. A man sat on a bunk in a narrow cell, staring at the blank wall opposite.

“Excuse me.” Dan knocked on the door. The man didn’t even turn his head.

The two cells after were unoccupied. In the next, a woman lay on her bed and wept.

“I wish there was something we could do for them,” Dan said.

“What can we do? They have food and water. Even if we could unlock the doors, they would be in more danger than they are in there.”

They continued past more small, cold rooms until they found the day room. It was marginally more welcoming with its painted walls, wooden tables and wicker chairs. It would have been almost pleasant if not for the blood streaked across the floor.

Raziel knelt and studied the scuffed marks. “Footprints,” he said. “Perhaps three days old, by the blood scent.”

The footprints led to a door on the opposite wall to the one they had entered by. Raziel drew his sword. He kicked the door open and rushed in, unsure what to expect, but willing to dish out hell upon anything that stood in his way.

The door opened onto a large room with a drainage channel down the middle, a cage in one corner, and a table in the other. A second glance allowed him to take in the skeleton manacled to the wall, the well dressed yet battered man in the cell, and the key on the table. A disarticulated femur lay a couple of feet from the cell, likely dropped in an attempt to reach the key.

The mayor looked at the intruders. “Gorblimey, I really have gone nuts.”

“I regret to say that you are quite sane,” Raziel said, taking the key and unlocking the door. “My name is Raziel, and this is Daniel Fortesque. We are here to help you.”

“We found the Shadow Artefact,” Dan added.

“Good job, lads!” the mayor said heartily. “If Zarok sets those demons free, all hell will be set loose. We’ve got to see that they stay in that tomb of theirs.”

“Do you know where the sorcerer is now?” Dan said.

“No, but I know what he’s searching for. He means to claim the crown of Gallowmere.”

Dan drew an unnecessary breath through his teeth. “Castle Peregrine’s our next stop, then.”

“So?” Raziel asked. “Surely there are more pressing troubles than a ceremonial piece of jewellery.”

Dan shook his head. “The monarchs of Gallowmere have always had magic of a sort. This island has magic built into it, right to the bedrock, you’ve seen that. The first king made some sort of pact with the mages and the land when he had the crown made. Whoever it gets passed on to has a right to rule. The land has to accept them. If Zarok gets his hands on it, he’ll have more power than any man should.”

“If the crown is so important, why are we not going there first?”

“Two reasons,” Dan said. “First, Castle Peregrine’s a long trek no matter which way we go. Second, I want to pay a visit to the Shadow Demon Tomb. I want to make sure they really are sealed up tight… if that’s alright by you.”

“It seems to be a rational course.” Raziel turned to the mayor. “I intend to get you to a place of safety. Do you have anywhere you can go?”

“Aye, if you can get me to the water mill west of town, that’d be right handy. And travelling with the Hero of Gallowmere? I’d be right honoured.”

Raziel’s eyes narrowed. He looked to Daniel, who had frozen, his shoulders hunched as if waiting to be struck. The wraith nodded. “Indeed. Now we should leave before Zarok’s warriors return.”


	10. Gates of Hell

The mayor was left safely at the mill with more thanks and smiles and talk of heroes. If he noticed the other men’s stiffness when he did, he made no indication of it.

“Thank you,” Dan said once they were back on the road.

Raziel shrugged. “People need heroes. Even if they are merely stories.”

The path wound on towards the enchanted wood. All Gallowmere’s forests were old, and none more so than this one. No one hunted here for fear of what their quarry would turn into. Fed off magic drawn from soil and stone, trees had grown to touch the clouds, their tops beyond the reach of mortal eyes. Zarok’s spell still blotted out the sun and allowed only the light of stars, yet beneath these enchanted boughs, the forest floor was as well lit as a summer’s day.

Perfumed flowers stood three feet high on either side of the track. Birds swooped down from the canopy less than an arm’s length from the men, in pursuit of the jewelled insects which flew up from the disturbed tufts of grass. In all his centuries, Raziel had never seen its like. He promised himself, no matter the cost, Gallowmere would not suffer the same fate as Nosgoth.

The long grass rustled and a large toad hopped onto the path. Dan nudged it with his foot. “Go on, shoo.”

The toad looked at him, and spat at his knee. Dan yelped, ignoring Raziel’s snicker. He was far more concerned about the way the sheet metal fizzed and bubbled where it had been hit.

Another toad crawled from the undergrowth. It didn’t seem to like the look of him either. This time the green globule sailed over his shoulder, shortly followed by another spat from the first toad. Or was it from the third one which had appeared?

Suddenly the grass was full of warty green bodies, and Dan felt more than a little outnumbered. Dozens of small yellow eyes stared at him unblinking.

He turned and ran.

Raziel waited until the angry amphibians had given chase, then followed at a more leisurely pace. The path was narrow, but the grass had been recently trodden down, and not just from Daniel. Occasionally a toad would hop across the path, but none of them paid him any attention. The birdsong was quieter here, and the undergrowth denser.

He found Daniel by a heavy door set into a low hillock. A gargoyle, half obscured by moss, glared at him.

“Not even Lord Zarok could get in here without the Shadow Artefact, now go away. There are other evils than the demons you must fight. No, don’t-!”

Dan had placed the artefact into the recess in the door. It opened ponderously, metal bars crawling away across the woodwork as it swung open, revealing nothing but a dark hole into the ground. He leaned over and peered in.

“If you are certain then we shall leave you to your vigil. Come along, Daniel,” Raziel said.

When he got no response, Raziel tapped Dan on the back and immediately regretted it. The knight lurched forward and leaned vertiginous over empty space. For a moment he teetered on the edge, arms pinwheeling. Raziel tried to catch hold of a flailing limb, but was knocked backwards. Daniel vanished into the darkness.

A few seconds later there was a thud and a groan from below.

The gargoyle sighed sadly. “I told it not to. There’s no way out of there short of dark magic.”

“Silence,” Raziel snapped. He called down, “Daniel? Are you hurt?”

“I’ll live. Metaphorically. Wait, there’s a mage light down here.”

“Don’t start wandering off. Can you see a way back up?”

Dan’s voice was more distant and distorted by echoes. “No. There’s some sort of barrier. And there’s a thing on the floor. There’s just symbols and coloured slabs and I’m stuck and I don’t know what to do!”

“Calm _down_ ,” Raziel started pacing as if it were he who was trapped, trying to outpace his tumbling thoughts. Five centuries. Five hundred years entombed in the underworld. No life, no rest, no reprieve. No time to think of that.

Raziel stopped pacing and turned back to the open doorway. “Describe your surroundings. Slowly.”

“There’s a big round thing on the floor and four slabs with stuff on them and there’s a mural but it’s just a picture of a demon with the floor things around it, it’s no help. Oh God, help,” Dan said all in one breath.

“Daniel, _calm!_ ”

“How the hell am I supposed to be calm?” he demanded.

“Because one of us has to be!”

There was a moment of ringing silence. Raziel dragged his claws through his hair, trying to think, trying to quell his panic.

“I’m coming down.”

“No, don’t be daft. You’ll be stuck here too. Someone has to stop Zarok.”

“You will.” Raziel jumped before his sense could return, and landed lightly on the packed earth floor.

He looked up. A magical barrier pulsed about a metre above his head. One thing was certain, they wouldn’t be getting out the way that they came in.

A few feet along, the earth tunnel ended in a round stone chamber. A shape appeared in the gloom, approaching fast. Raziel was enveloped in a tight, bony hug.

After a few seconds of muffled protests, he was released and Dan stepped back sheepishly.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m glad to see you.”

“You were alone for two minutes at most,” Raziel said without venom.

He took a better look around the chamber. The stones lent a soft light to the place as they pulsed with the same power that trapped them here. On the floor were the elemental symbols for earth, air, fire and water, carved at the four cardinal points around a large dome in the centre of the room. As Daniel had said, the symbols were replicated on the wall around a carving of a demon, and arcing over the carving was an inscription: _Two worlds, four elements, one purpose. While the world stands, so yet shall this prison._

Encouraging.

He looked at the carvings below his feet, then back to the wall. Curious that such an error would have been made here. Except it wasn’t an error, was it…?

“Simple,” he said. “Fire, earth, water, air.”

“How the hell did you figure that out?” Dan asked.

Raziel shrugged from where he had knelt by the fire glyph. He pressed down gently, and it slid into the floor with a click as he answered. “I always was better at visual reasoning than verbal instructions.”

No further explanation was forthcoming, but the next three symbols receded into the ground easily, and with each one the magical aura of the tomb grew a little weaker. The final slab slid into place and the light died altogether, leaving only the dim illumination filtering through from the entrance. There was a sound of stone shifting on stone and the central dome cracked open. After a century cast out of the world in a timeless, lightless void, the Shadow Demons burst forth.

The beasts poured out in their droves, black as sin, insubstantial as shadows. Moonlight glinted off an ever shifting mass of claws and fangs as they fled their prison and fought for open skies.

A single figure from the horde remained in the centre of the room, crouched, head bowed. Its wings were black as ravens’ and slick with blood. A glimpse of blue skin was revealed as the feathers shifted. Raziel didn’t dare breathe for fear the vision would fade. _He_ had been taken by demons when the Pillars fell, surely such a thing was impossible.

After an eternity wrapped up in a second, Raziel reached out a hand, hope and terror equal in his mind.

“Janos?” he said softly.

The figure’s head rose slowly and golden eyes met his gaze.

“Raziel?” Janos Audron breathed, and slumped.

*

Zarok stood at the top of one of Castle Peregrine’s crumbling towers. Once he had watched the stars from here and told the court their petty destinies. Now, soon, they would map his route to the crown.

He looked across the land that would be his by right of conquest. The smoke from ransacked Gallows Town could be seen from here – a reminder, as if one would be needed, to speak again with the town’s mayor. This time Zarok would not be so polite.

Another dark plume spiralled up from the forest. For a moment the sorcerer took it to be smoke before he saw what it truly was – a great black swarm funnelling up into the sky and north towards the castle.

The Shadow Demons were returning to their master, and Zarok laughed and laughed and laughed.


	11. A Witch's Word

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A brief warning that insects happen quite a lot in this chapter. If ants hugely bother you, you can skip the Dan parts of this chapter by scrolling down to the next asterisk page break without missing too much story driving detail, at least until the final section of the chapter.

Raziel ran to catch Janos as he fell. There were wounds across his chest and shoulders, among them the unmistakable mark of demon fangs, carrying a bite that would fester and would not heal.

“Poison.” He looked over his shoulder at Daniel who hadn’t moved. “I need your help.”

Dan hesitated for a second, then slung the man’s arm over his shoulder and tried to lift him. He was surprisingly light, especially given the muscles plainly visible beneath his torn and bloodstained robe.

Something clanged against Dan’s leg as he and Raziel hoisted the stranger – Janos – up. He glanced down. A sword in its scabbard swung back against his leg, black smears of demon blood visible on its hilt. A warrior, then. Whoever he was, Raziel knew him, and that was good enough for Dan.

They staggered back to the entrance, some last, blessed trace of magic lifting them back to the surface. The guardian gargoyle snarled at them when they stepped into the clearing.

“What were you thinking? Sacrificing the fate of the world for one man? The single most destructive and wretched creatures in the history of the world, and you’ve given them an early parole! They’ll be heading for the Master, and God help us all when they reach him.”

“Do you have anything useful to say?” Raziel snapped.

“Find the Forest Witch and beg for her forgiveness. You won’t get far through this forest without her help, especially with him in tow.”

Dan shifted Janos’ weight across his shoulders. “Where can we find her?”

“Her house is in the roots of our oldest oak. Follow the trail to your right, and not even you can miss it.”

“Come on.” Dan hoisted Janos up and got several steps before the vampire’s legs gave out.

“My apologies,” Janos murmured as he fell back onto Raziel’s shoulder.

Raziel wrapped an arm around his waist. “It is I who should apologise to you. If not for my cowardice you would have been spared the pain.”

“There is no shame in compassion, Raziel.” Janos drew a painful sounding breath.

“I don’t want to ruin the moment,” Dan said quietly, “but we’re being watched.”

He nodded to a thicket that at first glance looked no different to any other. A second glance revealed a pair of yellow eyes and a shadowy hint of wings. It seemed not all the Shadow Demons had been so swift to flee.

Raziel cursed.

“Can you run?” Dan asked Janos.

The Ancient Vampire shook his head. The demon started to bound towards them.

“If you need to leave me-” Janos began.

“No!” Raziel snapped.

“Bugger that!” Dan said. “Count of three, lift and run. Ready, Raz?”

“As I ever will be.”

“Right, one” – the demon was barely a dozen paces away and closing – “twothreego!”

They picked Janos up under his arms, lifted him off the ground, and fled.

The ground was flat and the witch’s house was as obvious as the gargoyle had said. The tree’s roots grew so close together that there was barely a seam between them except where they opened up to accommodate a door or window.

The bark covered door opened as they reached it. The witch looked down her long nose at her ragged visitors and casually tossed a fireball at the pursuing demon. It yelped and bounded away into the undergrowth.

“My, my, my, you are in a state. The Hero of Gallowmere and the Saviour of Nosgoth come to visit me, I should be honoured.” She laughed, a high pitched cackle that set the vampires’ teeth on edge.

Dan rolled his eye. “Get on with it. Are you going to help us or not?”

“Oh, _brave_ Captain Fortesque, first you have to ask for what you want.”

“We are not here to play games,” Raziel snapped. “Can you heal demon bites?”

A hint of respect flickered in the skinny old woman’s eyes. “I can do that, vampire, but you have to get something for me in return. The ants here are brighter than most. They stole seven pieces of amber from me. Return them and I’ll deal with the poison.”

“How can we trust you?” Raziel asked.

“A witch always keeps her word. But you need something more, don’t you? Very well. One of you can stay here with the patient while the other deals with the ants. Better?”

“I think that’s the best we’re going to get,” Dan said. “Alright, how do I get the amber?”

Raziel looked at him. _“You?”_

“Yes, me. Janos knows you. Stay with him.”

The wraith tilted his head. His eyes softened from their perpetual glare.

“Very heart-warming I’m sure, now get him inside. I don’t want to stand at the doorstep all day.” The witch herded them into her house and directed Janos onto the bed.

Leaving Raziel with instructions not to let him die until she came back, she then herded Dan back out of the house and pointed him towards the anthill.

“Are you ready, Sir Daniel?”

“I guess so- wait, what are you doing?”

Green lightning leapt from the witch’s fingertips and wrapped around him. When the light faded, she towered over him like a giant. The grass was taller than his head.

“Oh, didn’t I mention I’d have to shrink you to the size of an insect? Now hurry back,” she said breezily.

Dan grumbled to himself as she left, but he didn’t have any choice but to enter the anthill.

*

Raziel pulled a stool up to the side of the bed, and worried. Janos’ eyes had closed almost as soon as he had laid down. The scene looked far too much like his bier.

“Out of my way, out of my way.” The witch bustled back with a bowl of water and two damp cloths. She dabbed a drop of water onto the back of Janos’ wrist. When it didn’t burn the skin, she handed one cloth to Raziel and kept the other.

He looked at her quizzically.

“If you’re going to hover over my shoulder, you can make yourself useful. At the very least we can bathe the wounds and remove what venom we can from the surface.”

The wraith gingerly pressed the cloth against a nasty looking gouge. Green fluid leached from flesh to fabric. He took a shaky breath and rinsed the cloth. Raziel was no stranger to violence, but he would have given almost anything to not be here in this sickroom. Anything but Janos.

*

Dan padded down darkened tunnels of packed earth and hoped against hope that the skittering of chitinous legs was only in his imagination. Why the hell was he doing this? Raziel and the witch both knew he was no hero. There was no facade forcing him to press on. But there was a man who needed him. He pressed on.

Away from the entrance, the darkness was complete. Dan kept one arm stretched out in front of him in search of any unseen obstacles or twists in the tunnel. He placed each foot down with care. There could be a sheer drop inches ahead and he wouldn’t see it.

After minutes of careful pacing, the darkness became less absolute. Dan could just about make out his own outstretched arm in the faint blue glow.

Around the next turn he found the source of the light. A fairy was held in strands of magic, unconscious. If not for the glow of its body, Dan would have thought it was dead. He pulled it free and the creature raised its head.

“Thank you for releasing me, sir,” he said in a deep, hoarse voice. “I never expected to see another friendly face again. What are you doing down here?”

“The witch sent me to get some amber,” Dan said.

The fairy gave his wings an experimental flap and took to the air. “So that’s how she did it.”

“Did what?”

“The Ant Queen got ahold of magic from somewhere, and once she got a taste for it, she wanted more. That was when she started sending out her soldiers to capture us fairy folk. She’s been binding us down here and draining us of our magic. And we can’t survive without magic any more than you people can without blood.” He looked at the walking skeleton. “No offence to yourself.”

“None taken.”

“’Ere, are you that Fortesque fella?”

“That’s me.”

“Then maybe we can help each other. Slay the Ant Queen, free my people, and I can see to it that you’ll be well rewarded.”

*

“There was a war,” Raziel said, looking at Janos’ sleeping face rather than the witch bandaging his wounds. “I never saw it, but there were atrocities committed on both sides, by dark magic and worse. All that mattered was ending it, and so they did. Mutual annihilation, as near as not. Janos was the last living vampire, and I should have been the one to save him. I should have been the one to save them all.”

“He isn’t dead yet,” the witch said. “it isn’t too late. Stay with him while I make a start on the anti-venom. Give him something worth fighting for.”

*

Dan didn’t like insects much at the best of times. This was, quite frankly, his personal hell. Soldier ants the size of hunting dogs scurried towards him in the meagre light the fairy could provide.

He kept his back to the wall of the earthen chamber, stabbing whenever once came near. Sweeping blows, he quickly learned, merely bounced off their carapaces. Dozens of them swarmed around, climbing over the bodies of their dead comrades as though they weren’t even there. Pincers clicked together barely an arm’s length away from him and strong enough to cleave through bone.

“Close your eyes,” the fairy commanded.

Dan covered his eye with his free hand, but still saw the flash of light through the gaps between bones. When he lowered it, ants were stumbling around blinded and dazed, their skeletal quarry forgotten for the moment.

“Come on, before they recover.” The fairy hovered by a branch in the tunnel. His light had faded back to a muted blue, but it was enough to see by. And to be seen. Dan hurried after him.

*

Raziel wished he had a god worth praying to. He wished Janos would wake up. He wished he didn’t have to rely on Daniel, and wished he didn’t trust him regardless.

The witch was busy cooking up some foul smelling brew in her cauldron. He was alone. He could talk, even if Janos couldn’t hear him.

“You were the only thing in Nosgoth worth saving, and even you never told me the whole truth. Did you even know it, I wonder? Did anyone know of our ancestors’ guilt? I was meant to free both peoples from the beast at the base of the Pillars, and here you are, sole survivor, in the hands of a perfidious, failed knight.” He clutched Janos’ hand as if he could pull him from death’s reach with the gesture.

Raziel lay his head on Janos’ chest and wondered if it was still possible for him to weep.

*

After what felt like hours in that twisting maze, the fairy led Dan to the queen’s chamber.

“I can’t take you any further. The Queen would kill me for certain if she saw I’d got free. Good luck, Sir Daniel.”

The fairy vanished, leaving only a fading light where he had been.

“Thanks,” Dan said to the empty air.

He crept into the chamber. Lit by captive fairies hanging from the ceiling on threads of magic, the glistening bulk of the Ant Queen lay on her horde of stolen amber. If he was lucky, a single blow while she slept would be all he needed.

Earth crunched under his feet as he stepped forward. The Queen’s head swung towards him like a lodestone turning north. Mirrored eyes focused on him, full of loathing. A ululation of anger echoed through the mound.

The Queen spat a mouthful of magic laden acid at the little knight, missing him by a hair’s breadth.

A dozen sleek black bodies scuttled down the walls, ready to defend their queen. There was no fairy magic to save him this time. Dan raised his sword and charged towards the Ant Queen.

*

“For goodness sake, let him breathe.” The witch’s hands caught Raziel in a firm, but not unkind grip, and pulled him back up into a sitting position.

She lifted up Janos’ wrist and took a pulse. The witch frowned.

Raziel looked up at her. “Please tell me he will live.”

“I can’t, dear.”

*

Dan looked up. The Queen towered over him. Soldier ants scurried over one another in their haste to reach him. The moment they arrived, he would be as good as dead. If he was to do anything, it had to be now.

The Ant Queen reared. He thrust his sword up into the egg-swollen abdomen as deep as it would go, and ran before she fell, leaving the sword lodged in her carapace.

The Queen shrieked. Frantically, she tried to remove the sword, but the clumsy movement of her legs only served to widen the wound. Yellow ichor spilled out, making the floor slick and treacherous for knight and ants alike.

The soldiers still circled, avoiding their mother’s flailing limbs. Dan spanned his crossbow, the quarrel swinging between targets. He would only have time for one shot. The Queen turned her head back towards him and opened her mouth. He fired.

It was a shot Canny Time would have been proud of. The bolt sailed between the Queen’s mandibles, hit her mouth, and carried on going. Her head fell to the ground.

The web of light which held the fairies snapped and faded with her death. For a moment Dan was surrounded by winged figures flying around him faster and faster, then in a flash the anthill and the fairies vanished. Still less than half an inch tall, he found himself standing on the witch’s windowsill, a pile of amber by his side.

The witch looked up from her cauldron with a start. She put a hand to her chest. “Bless me, if it isn’t Daniel, Lord of the Ants. Get down from there and I’ll reverse the shrinking spell.”

She placed him gently on the floor, and magic once more arced from her hands. Dan staggered and leaned against the wall as he returned to his proper size. He reached for his sword and cursed. It was still in the anthill, the size of a splinter.

The witch had already lost interest in him. She picked up a small piece of amber from the pile on the windowsill and dropped it into the cauldron. The rest were carefully tipped into a drawstring bag while the potion fizzed and crackled behind her.

“Right, that should do it.” She dipped a wooden cup into the unappealing green concoction and waved it at Dan.

“Go on, then. Give it to him.”

He took it gingerly and carried it into the bedroom. Dan paused. He knew how to deal with Raziel when he was angry or injured. Dry, shuddering sobs were new, and he didn’t like it one bit.

“Uh, the witch says this is for Janos.”

No response.

Dan put a hand on the wraith’s shoulder, half hoping it would be angrily shoved off, but Raziel just sat there. That was even worse.

Dan started narrating as he moved around the bed, unsure if it was more for Raziel’s benefit or his.

“Right, his breathing’s steady. Can we get him sat up? … That’s it.”

As Janos was moved upright, Raziel came unwillingly to life.

“Keep his head supported. Now hand me that cup.” He raised the potion to Janos’ mouth, more of the liquid marking his lips than passing between them.

“Please,” Raziel whispered, almost inaudible. He tilted Janos’ head further forward and tried again.

He stopped and swatted at a fly. His hand jerked to a halt in mid air just before it made contact, held in place by some unseen force.

“Oi, steady on mate,” a voice called. “Hang about, I’ll let you see me better.”

The blue fluttery thing Raziel had taken for a fly grew until it was the size of his skull. The fairy grinned at him. “Your mate helped us out and I’m here to return the favour. Still got that cup of yours, Dan?”

“The chalice?”

“Aye, whatever. Just hand it over, would you?”

Dan rummaged in his breastplate and passed it over. The fairy clicked his fingers and the chalice was filled by an inner light. The world took on the now familiar timeless quality and a figure appeared at the foot of the bed.

“Good grief, are you still hanging around with this chump?” Woden barked.

Raziel glared. “I am. And I notice that he is still here and still fighting, while you are most palpably not.”

Dan hushed him before the hostilities could get worse. “Good to see you again,” he lied. “I lost my sword down in the ants’ nest. Don’t suppose you’ve got another one hidden away?”

“Ha! As useless as ever. I came here to help a _real_ warrior.” Woden leaned over the bed and reached for Janos. His fingertips just brushed the vampire’s chest before they were caught in Raziel’s iron grip. The wraith didn’t notice the faint light which faded from Woden’s fingertips and lit Janos’ skin for a moment.

“ _Don’t you dare touch him.”_

“I’ll do what I jolly well please, and I’ll be a sight more useful than this gangly idiot. Now unhand me.”

“I know one thing you can do to be of material use,” Raziel said and lowered his cowl. “A Reaver’s hunger never entirely fades.”

Woden stared at the glowing void below the wraith’s jaw and vanished from the world.

Colours returned, and Janos started coughing. He looked healthier than he had in the timeless space before, but so would a corpse.

Raziel brushed a fallen lock of hair from his forehead. Janos opened his eyes.

“Raziel? It was no vision?”

“None of it. Even the parts I wish had been.”

Janos half smiled. The bruises around his eyes didn’t look so dark. The silence stretched out, a taste of that sliver of peace they had shared in Uschtenheim all that time ago.

The witch bustled back through and the moment was lost. “I don’t want to rush anyone, but haven’t you got a kingdom to save? And I thought I told you to make him drink all of that potion. Honestly, there’s no point in me slaving away over the fire if he’s not going to take his medicine.”

She shoved the cup into Janos’ unprotesting hand. He took a sip and made a face.

“What are you two still doing here?” The witch flapped her hands at Raziel and Dan. “Go on, shoo!”

“But Janos-” Raziel protested.

“Will still be here if you get back.”

Janos’ thumb brushed the back of his hand. “She is right, Raziel.”

“But I-”

Janos shushed him. “The fate of the world is worth more than one man. I trust I shall be safe in this good lady’s care. But before you leave, take my sword. I suspect you shall have more use for it than I.”

Raziel inclined his head. There was nothing he could say to argue. He passed Woden’s broadsword to Daniel and took up the shorter, lighter blade from Janos’s side.

Again there was the weight of silence between them, full of unspoken words. There wasn’t time for any of them.

“Be safe,” Raziel said, and took Janos’ hand one last time before he left.


	12. Death from the Shadows

With the demons’ return, silence had fallen over the forest. The toads had retreated to their streams and ponds, the insects hid under bark and leaves, even the great dragon birds abandoned their hunting and huddled in their nest high in the canopy. Only two figures moved in this world of shifting shadows and lurking death.

The tree walks had been strung across the forest by witches and woodsmen long since dead, and had stood for centuries. No rot ate away at the ropes and planks, no moss grew on the wood underfoot. It was a safer walk along here than any road in Gallowmere, but that didn’t make Dan feel any happier.

Raziel half led, half pulled him along the swinging walkways. If they were lucky, luckier than any man Dan had ever known, they could make it to the lake and be on a boat headed for the Silver Woods in an hour. If they were unlucky, demons would be gnawing on their bones before they even left the forest.

Dan wished he had ever been lucky.

A partridge startled from the underbrush and flew across in front of them in a confusion of feathers. Dan clutched at the rope which did service as a railing and Raziel froze. There was a squawk from somewhere above them, abruptly cut off, and a couple of feathers drifted down from the leaf canopy. Was it his imagination or was there something moving up in the branches?

“Run!” Raziel ordered, moments before a demon dived down through the leaves.

He sprinted towards the next tree, fleet footed as a hare. Dan lurched after him, swaying more than the rope bridge. Something moved in his peripheral vision and he threw himself flat against the planks. Leathery wings flapped just above his head and claws swiped at the ropes. One snapped and the bridge tilted. Dan made a grab for the other one, feet slipping on the smooth wood.

Raziel shouted something, but it was lost as the demon wheeled around and cried out triumphantly. It swooped at him again. Dan turned his head away.

There was a boom of displaced air and the bridge lurched. When he looked back, the demon was tangled in the ropes and Raziel was inching across the damaged slats towards him. Dan tried to pull himself closer, and out of the reach of the demon’s flailing claws.

“Daniel, stop where you are and hold on tightly _now!”_ Raziel threw another telekinetic attack at the demon, sending it back into the wreckage of the damaged rope bridge.

The wraith reached out for him. Their hands touched at the same moment as the demon tore free from the ropes and split the bridge in two. The two halves of the structure fell flat against the trees that held them, one trailing a pair of screaming corpses. Dan hit the trunk at full force, lost his grip on Raziel’s hand and fell into the undergrowth.

Raziel sank his claws into the wood and looked up in time to see the demon readying a magical attack of its own. There was nothing he could do to avoid the crackling orb of energy. When it hit there was only pain, overriding all the other senses, searing and blinding. Time ceased to exist. A memory which had nothing to do with thought flickered in the flat agony of his mind.

_His maker standing over him in the Chronoplast, the rage burning in his chest. Children slaughtered, brothers slain by his own hand, and Kain’s lips twisted in a cruel smile, something like pride in his cold eyes._

“ _You have done, Raziel...”_

“Raziel, please wake up.”

The white hot agony drained from his bones, leaving a throbbing ache. Rage still churned in what was left of his stomach, dulling his slow thoughts.

He was lying on his back. Hard, wet surface, the smell of grass. He forced his eyes open and Daniel’s worried skull swam into his vision.

“Raziel we have to move. It’s right above us.”

Raziel raised his head from the damp grass and focused with difficulty on the dark shape fluttering overhead. Behind him Dan spanned his crossbow and fired. It sailed straight and true, and passed through the demon as if it wasn’t even there.

The Shadow Demon dived. Raziel’s rage boiled over, drowning thought.

Bones screaming at him, Raziel leapt and met the thing in mid air. He didn’t draw his sword, just clawed wildly at the beast’s shifting, shadowy hide. If there were any words in his scream, they were lost beneath the demon’s cries.

It fought for height, trying to kick off the half feral wraith. A claw caught its wing by chance and tore a jagged wound from top to bottom. One wing now barely more than formless, curling shadow, the demon fell to the ground, Raziel on top of it and still attacking. The demon’s claws raked across his ribs until they dripped with blue ichor and he barely noticed.

The demon stopped moving and still Raziel clawed at its carcass. Only when its flesh dissipated into black mist did something approaching reason return. Raziel’s knees hit the crushed bracken where the demon had lain. He took its soul, and then there was nothing but himself, blood dripping from his hands and chest. There was no victory here, just the hollow knowledge that he was still alive.

Footsteps. He turned. Daniel paused in his approach, hand still outstretched. After a long moment, Raziel took it and let himself be led back to the path and away from the silenced forest.


	13. Lost Souls

The trees thinned. Steadily the light and magic drained from the forest until they were walking through nothing more than mortal woodland under moonlight. Before long, the trees gave way to grass and scattered bushed, and then they too vanished and the land was nothing but barren marshes.

Wading birds had long since fled, but corvids still circled, their harsh cries the only sound in the dead air. Mist curled across the ground in ragged streams as it had a hundred years ago, before the water had run red with blood. If Dan listened, he was sure he could hear the echoes of doomed charges, the whispers of the fallen. That, then, was the sound of guilt.

Raziel stopped and turned back to him. “What is it, Daniel?”

He turned to the wraith, but his gaze was pulled back to the old battlefield. The mist and shadows danced together to become distant knights and demons – ghosts residing solely in his mind.

“It was here that it happened. It’s here that I killed them. Dozens – hundreds – of men following a fool. When I fell, they should have left my body to the fish and the tides.”

“And where would Gallowmere be now? These people would not have a chance, Daniel, not a hope. That is what you were, what you always have been. Save me the self pity and take your second chance to live up to your legend.”

“Live up to my lies, more like.”

“Not all of us were given the opportunity to do even that,” Raziel snapped. “And it was not _my_ lies that they believed,” he added quietly.

There was a long drawn out silence as each man stared at his own past. Dan broke it.

“I think I can see a boat by that spit of land. We can talk when we’re away from here.”

“I would council against running away from one’s problems, but hypocrisy never did become me.”

The mudflats, they soon found, were near impossible to walk through, but far too easy to slip on and slide across. In the few hundred yards between the firm ground they had stood on and the boat, the mud had plastered Dan’s armour to the waist, and covered Raziel from the chest down. The wraith dragged himself onto the sandbank and stood up on the second try. Dan hauled himself upright beside him, and together they squelched towards the boat and its cloaked occupant.

“Excuse me!” Dan called out. “Don’t be alarmed, my friend and I are looking for a boat.”

“Friend,” Raziel snorted. He stopped when he saw bone gleaming beneath the stranger’s hood. He nudged Dan into silence.

“Do you know who this is?” Raziel hissed.

Dan squinted at the figure, and nodded. “An old friend… well, not quite a friend. Call him the Boat Man. I guess he’s everyone’s friend sooner or later. Didn’t you meet him when you died?”

“No. I was claimed by… by no one you would wish to meet. Will he aid us?”

“There’s only one way to find out.” Dan called out again, “Hello again, sir! I don’t know if you remember me?”

The Boat Man turned to them. “Sir Daniel Fortesque? Of course I remember you! And who’s this? Raziel? What are you doing here, all the way from Nosgoth?”

“I wish I knew.” Raziel made a helpless gesture. “Do you know of everyone in… our line of business?”

“A fair few, a fair few. I have to say, I thought you were done for.”

“You and I both. But it seems that fate is not quite done with me yet. Can you grant us transport? Please?”

“I wish I could. Thanks to Zarok I’m up to my eye sockets in lost souls, and he hasn’t made finding them easy, oh no. This whole battlefield is littered with the souls of the restless dead. It’s sheer luck that Sir Daniel isn’t amongst them. They never did recover half the bodies from that battle.” The Boat Man heaved a sigh like the breeze through a forgotten tomb. “Look, Raziel. You know the ropes. By my reckoning there are half a dozen lost souls still wandering the marshes. Gather them up for me and I can give you a lift, and maybe… well, we’ll see.”

Raziel inclined his head. “Thank you. Daniel, you should stay.”

“-close by you. I will.”

“I meant that you should stay here. You have no experience as a reaper of souls.”

“I’m not abandoning my men again.”

“These aren’t your men, Daniel. They are but shells, puppets. There is nothing left of them but bone, and nothing you can do to help them.”

Dan looked down. “I can give them rest. They fought against Zarok in life. I won’t let him sully their memory by having them fight for him in death.”

Raziel sighed. “You have a fool’s heart, Daniel. But a good one. Come along.”

Deeper into the marshes the sound of marching feet could be heard, always to one side of them, always shrouded in mist. A ghostly bugle call made a pair of crows take flight.

Dan stamped his feet and rubbed his hands as if that would do anything to abate the chill of death which wrapped around him like a shroud. “So… you know the ropes, eh? Would you care to tell me what that means?”

“What is there to say? I am a reaver of souls. You have seen me consume the spirits of the slain. It was a dark god’s price for dragging me back into this sorry world. He offered me a chance at vengeance against the brothers who slew me, and in return I took the dead to feed his loathsome, parasitic self.”

Something came towards them out of the mist, making Raziel fall silent. A skeleton, long ago picked clean, approached them like a poorly strung puppet still carrying the sword and shield which had not saved his life. It ignored Raziel completely, closing in on its former captain.

It was only Zarok’s spell, Dan told himself as he backed away. There was no rage driving the attack, no matter the fury with which the sword was swung. This was not a punishment for his failure. He wished he could believe it.

“I’m sorry,” he said, just before Raziel’s sword came down to shatter the blank skull.

The soul fled its old bones, but the otherworldly glow in the mist didn’t fade. Dan turned to see a ghost salute him, still clad in the memory of armour.

“No need for that,” he said. “We’ve come to take you home.”

Raziel took up the warrior’s soul as gently as if he were a newborn babe. He placed a hand on Daniel’s shoulder and motioned him to follow.

The sound of marching became louder; no longer an unseen, distant legion, but one pair of feet close by. Here on one of the few stretches of dry land a heavily armoured knight still patrolled, now hindered by the rusting joints of his armour.

Raziel readied his sword, but Dan put a restraining hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t bother. That armour was forged to withstand demons. Our swords won’t put a dent in it.”

“Perhaps not yours. This blade was forged in magic; some of the vampire Vorador’s finest work if I am any judge.”

“It doesn’t matter. Demons are more magic than mortal. That armour was meant to deflect that magic. Try it if you like, but you won’t get anywhere.”

“Then what, pray tell, do you suggest we do?”

Dan shrugged. “We can’t avoid it. If we try running past we’ll get shoved into the water, and we’d sink like a couple of rocks.”

“We would…?” Raziel’s claws tapped a rhythm on the pommel of his sword.

“It was as much of a hazard as Zarok’s army,” Dan continued, oblivious. “Deep water channels, hidden pools covered in weeds, and deep, sticking mud below it all. There’s a reason so many bodies were never recovered.”

“Good.”

“Raziel, how can you say that?”

But he was talking to the wraith’s back. Raziel threw himself at the heavy knight’s breastplate at high speed with all the force he could muster. The knight took a startled step back towards the still pool of water. It recovered and swung a gauntlet down on Raziel’s head.

He dropped back onto the sand, lights flashing in front of his eyes.

A sword swung over Raziel’s head and met the knight’s helmet with a clang. Dan winced and almost dropped his sword, but the knight staggered back all the same.

Raziel swallowed the wave of nausea and concentrated. A telekinetic bolt leapt from his hand and stuck the knight’s chest. It took another step back and sank into the murky water.

The armour vanished into the mire, but a pale light flickered in the suspended silt. Raziel reached down and took the second soul by the hand.

*

They were well into the old battlefield now. Here and there a tarnished shield glinted in the mud. Dan tried to pull one out to replace his battered old thing, but quickly gave up. All but one were wedged firmly in the mire, and the one that did come free had been shredded by demon claws. He dropped it.

It hit the ground with a hollow clang. The shield fell to one side and a skull raised itself up from the mud. The rest of the skeleton followed slowly, weighed down by the chain mail hanging from its shoulders. King Peregrine’s coat of arms was still just visible on its torn and stained tabard.

This time Dan didn’t hesitate more than a second. He brought his sword down in an arc and beheaded the skeleton before it could stand.

Still looking down, he didn’t notice the ragged banner flapping until it was pushed aside by ghostly hands. A pale soul dropped the fabric and drifted towards them. Dan only caught a glimpse of the sword wound on their stomach before he looked away, but he was dimly aware of Raziel taking the spirit into his arms.

“Self hatred will bring you nothing,” Raziel said quietly.

“Not even redemption.” Dan sighed. “Come on. The tents we pitched over here, I think. It wasn’t the finest place to spend my last night on earth.”

There was no ghostly encampment to greet them, just the ever-present mist and pools of deep water choked with weeds. One had a silvery hue, more than could be explained by the light of the unseen moon. Dan reached down and brushed the waterweed away from an insubstantial head of white hair. A hand reached out for his, and he started to pull the soul from the water.

It pulled back, hard. Dan tumbled forward.

He hit the water. Cold, so cold. He gasped, although he had no lungs to fill with water. There were dozens of hands on him now, pulling him down far deeper than the silt should have allowed. Everywhere he turned his head, there was nothing but dark water, save for the white shapes grasping at him. Faces of boys who never grew into men, of men who left wives and sweethearts behind. All of them fully aware of who had sent them to their graves. They could not reach Zarok, master of the dead, but they could drag the other guilty party down to share their fate.

Dan didn’t bother to struggle. Even if he had a will to, even if he could break their hold, he wouldn’t make it back to the surface. He would be just another pile of plate armour and bones lying forgotten at the bottom of the lake. Just as he deserved.

He tumbled about again, blind in the inky blackness. Hands fell away. Two glowing eyes fixed on him and claws wrapped around his wrists. He felt himself being pulled through the water again, dragged behind the unseen creature.

At last he registered the murky light, shifting like the surface of a lake, then his skull broke up through the water. Raziel, one hand still firmly closed around his, struck out for shore, towing the fallen knight behind him. They flopped onto the sand, the wraith not loosening his hold, and Dan not wishing him to.

“They wanted their captain,” Dan said eventually. “Wanted revenge. Or company. Or both.”

“Yes,” Raziel said.

He sounded distracted. Dan propped himself to see that he wasn’t the only one Raziel had pulled from the deep water.

“It’s time to go now. Time to sleep,” the wraith said, and pulled the soul towards him.

He lent a hand to Daniel. “Do you wish to return to the boat? There would be no shame in you leaving now.”

“And leave them? After that? No, I’m staying.”

“Very well.” Raziel wrung out his hair and looked around the barren marsh. There was a darker shape in the mist to the right. It was as good a direction as any.

In the shadow of the crumbling watch tower, a suit of armour stood stiffly to attention. It didn’t move at their approach. Raziel skirted to the side warily. Dan thrust his sword into the stand and walked straight towards it.

Something about the armour didn’t reflect light the way it should. The shine was dulled by a century of disuse, but there was a brightness at the joints of metal plates where pale light filtered out. Dan raised the visor and looked into a face he had last seen a hundred years ago.

“I’m sorry,” Dan said. He deserved to hear it. They all did.

“Raziel, he called over his shoulder, “a job for you.”

“And another.” Raziel pointed at a now familiar ghostly glow from the top of the tower. He brushed the spirit’s cheek gently with a claw. The shade faded, and the armour collapsed back in on itself, now no more than sheet metal.

Dan covered in in the soft sand while Raziel scaled the tower for the sixth soul. That and a cross made from a couple of sticks bound together with grass was the closest he could give to a proper burial.

There was nothing to mark their journey back but a quiet melancholy. Neither man felt inclined to speak. There weren’t any words that would be enough.

The Boat Man waved cheerily to them as the pair of muddy, dishevelled skeletons plodded back towards him.

Raziel half-heartedly raised a hand in return and lowered his cowl. The six lost souls circled the Boat Man for a moment, then faded.

“...four, five, six.” His skull nodded in satisfaction beneath his cowl. “I’m much obliged to you, gents. Makes a change to meet two polite young skeletons after dealing with those filthy zombie types. Hop aboard.”

The Boat Man tapped his fingers against the shaft of his oar as they scrambled onto the small boat. Eventually he seemed to reach a decision. “I’m not meant to meddle in mortal affairs, but I’m sure it wouldn’t hurt just this once… let me see that chalice of yours.”

He took the lamp from the prow of the boat and opened a door in the glass. The ghostly green flame leapt out into his other hand. It curled around the chalice like St Elmo’s fire, and in its light a fourth figure appeared on deck.

The newcomer wore flowing robes with her hair up in a complex knot, but the colours were lost in her ghostly state. She immediately reached out to Dan and placed a hand on his bony cheek.

“Oh, Daniel, thank goodness you’re alright! I’ve been so worried about you.”

“You were?” Dan asked disbelievingly. He raised a hand to cover hers; rough from work and cool as death.

“Of course. And you too, Raziel,” she said, turning to him. “You’ve been good for him. I always knew Daniel had the heart of a hero, he just needed the right circumstances to bring it out.”

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Raziel said, “but who are you and how do you know who we are?”

Dan unlaced his fingers from the woman’s and made an attempt at a formal introduction. “This is Megwynne Stormbinder, one time Lady of the Silver Fort, where she held off a siege practically single handed. To be honest, she was one of the reasons I wanted to be a knight, and not just because of the lightning blessing… that part wasn’t just a story, was it?” he added.

Megwynne smiled. For a moment lightning crackled between her fingers and leapt from one hand to the other. “The gods were kind. People notice when you go to war with nothing more than a carving knife.” She glanced to Raziel. “Or an old pitchfork.”

The penny finally dropped for Dan. “You mean you’ve been watching us?”

“Just keeping an eye on you, dear. You’ve impressed people in the Hall of Heroes, young man.”

“Ha, I bet Woden’s taking bets on how long before I’m back in the ground.”

Megwynne didn’t comment, but she did put her hand to a pocket for a moment to check her betting slip was out of sight. “You’ll have to prove him wrong, then, won’t you. Here, take a handful of my lightning. There isn’t much of it, but it’s very powerful.” She nodded at Raziel. “Almost as much as your sire’s magic.”

“You know about that?” he almost yelped. “How much did you see?”

“I saw enough. You did very well, Raziel.”

The wraith scoffed.

“You did,” she said firmly, tilting up his jaw to look at her. “No one could have tried harder than you did. And it very nearly worked out.”

“ _Nearly_ does not quite cut it.”

“Not at first, but you’re getting closer. Don’t give up just yet.”

She smiled at them both and faded from the world. The lightning crackled in Dan’s hand, but more important was the flame of hope left with it.


	14. The Lost Town

The boat moored itself by a half submerged jetty out in the middle of the lake. A network of wooden walkways spread across the murky surface all the way to the base of the cliffs at the distant shoreline. Death hung in the air like a leaden weight.

“What is this place?” Raziel asked.

“Mellowmede,” the Boat Man said. It was clear that he felt it said all that was needed.

“The sunken town?” Dan said. “I thought that was just a legend.”

The Boat Man shrugged. “Give it a few centuries and people may say the same about you. But take care, Sir Daniel. I never did gather the souls that died here when the water rose.”

“What does that mean?”

“Just take care.”

“Comforting,” Raziel said, and stepped off the boat onto the greasy planks of the jetty.

Dan tried to follow suit. His foot skidded across the wood, leaving him doing the splits for a moment half on and half off the boat before he collapsed onto the boards.

He scrambled back upright with slightly more grace than an upturned duck and smiled sheepishly. “Watch your step.”

“I think I would be better served watching yours,” Raziel said dryly.

The Boat Man nodded to them both and set back out across the lake. He faded as he sculled across the water, and in a few seconds there was no sign he had ever been there but the ghostly splash of an unseen paddle until that, too, faded into the night.

Dan’s shoulders sagged. “Well there goes our transport.”

“Indeed. Once more unto the breach, dear friend?” Raziel raised his hand to gesture Daniel to follow, but when the knight laced his fingers between his claws, he made no complaint.

After a few minutes, Dan’s voice broke the silence. “I wonder why the Boat Man brought us here. If Zarok’s at Castle Peregrine, we should have cut straight through the Silver Woods.”

“I daresay he has his reasons.”

“Yeah… I wonder if we’re going to like them.”

“There is nothing to fear in an abandoned town,” Raziel said, wishing he believed it himself.

Now that they were closer to the cliffs, the roofs of half submerged houses were scattered between the branching walkways. The stained glass in their windows was unbroken, showing images of squids and stars and things altogether stranger. Whatever had taken this town had left its mark on the soul but not the stone.

There was no wind here. It had chilled him halfway back to death on the open lake, but here there wasn’t the faintest breeze. No birds nested in the abandoned houses. He couldn’t see any fish, but there must have been plenty of them out of sight – the only sound beyond their footsteps was the quiet splash of unseen things in the dark water.

Raziel really wished he hadn’t thought that. His hand tightened on Daniel’s.

“Don’t worry, we’ll soon get to the shore.” Dan squeezed Raziel’s fingers, and, despite himself, the wraith felt a little better.

The pathways met the shore, and their feet crunched over the shingle. There was nothing here but a handful of stone houses huddled together in the shade of the cliff.

Raziel cautiously pushed open the nearest doorway. A smell of damp and mildew greeted him, but aside from the dark and decay, it was just a cottage. Four chairs were tucked under a table, a bowl in the centre. There was a log pile by the fireplace, almost entirely covered in moss. The bed in the far corner, although eaten by rot, still had its cloth hangings. They moved slightly in the draught.

But there wasn’t any wind. Raziel remembered that at the same moment as the fabric was thrown aside.

Something more lizard than man leapt from the bed and hit Dan full in the chest, bearing him to the ground.

Dan’s sword clattered uselessly against its armoured flank. He dropped it and tried to push the creature off. It didn’t move. Grunting with effort, both hands pushing against its neck, he could only just manage to keep its snapping jaws away from his skull.

It snarled. A bead of saliva hung from its tongue. Dan’s arms started to shake. Even with no muscle to ache, no skin to tear, he was starting to tire.

Raziel’s claws closed around the beast’s face. He tried hauling it off, but only succeeded in pulling himself towards it. He shifted his grip, grunting as its teeth bit into his palms. Ignoring the pain, he drove his claws as deep as he could into the roof of its mouth.

Dan scrambled out from underneath the creature as it reared back, trying to throw the wraith off. He picked up his sword.

“Hold it still.”

Raziel grunted.

Dan took it as agreement and thrust his sword straight into the beast’s maw. With a final, sickening, choked sound, it stopped struggling and lay still.

Dan removed his sword and nudged the corpse with his foot. “What the hell was it?”

“I was hoping that you could tell me.” Raziel tried to wipe the blood from his hands and eventually gave up.

“Something to avoid,” Dan suggested.

“Yes… yes, I think so.”

Raziel peered out the doorway. Nothing moved across the moonlit pebbles of the beach, but cliff-side caves and abandoned houses provided enough cover for an army to hide in. But even if there were a hundred more of the creatures waiting for them, they still couldn’t stay in this cottage. He motioned Daniel to follow and flitted to the shelter of a crumbling wall.

A gargoyle had been carved there before the town had been swallowed by the lake. More recently, claws had gouged into it, splitting its lip and breaking off the tip of an ear.

Dan tapped it gently on its chipped nose. “Do you know what those creatures are? What happened here? And more importantly, can you tell us without too much sarcasm?”

The gargoyle opened its eyes. “We can only tell you what we knows and nothing more. Long ago, when we was newly carved, the people of this town sought to harness the power of crystals. By day and night they dug deep into the earth and took its treasures for their own, giving nothing in return. Even when the earth demanded payment, they refused. Their mages formed the whirlpool at the centre of the town and sealed it with three crystal keys, believing that which they worshipped would protect them.

“Fools,” it sighed. “The Rhinotaurs still came, the waters rose, and the town fell. Since then, the only things that have walked these streets are the Guardians of the Deeps. May their master take them as it did the townsfolk,” it spat, then fell silent.

“Now we know why the Boat Man took us here, at least,” Dan said.

“To once again follow in the footsteps of fools. I have had my taste of dead men’s failures.” Raziel kicked a pebble into the water.

The ripples spread out from it and centred around a spot a few metres from the shore. Something moved beneath the surface. “But if it is the only way to leave, I think we should find it. Quickly.”

By the time the Guardian’s head broke the surface of the water, Raziel and Dan were already making their way back along the maze of wooden planks around the sunken town. It watched them go, spat and cursed in a language older than men, then vanished back into the deeps.

Raziel, the more sure footed, moved at a quicker pace. The walkway branched here, turning into a vast ring which encircled a whirlpool, lying in the unnaturally still waters around it. But the white water of the swirling torrent was nothing to the flood of terror inside his head. To the eyes of memory, this was the Lake of the Dead, the site of his execution. His master was surely lying below, ever waiting for this wayward soul to return.

Footsteps. Kain was going to-

A hand met his shoulder, close to ruined wings – far too close, memories of claws tearing into them still fresh after centuries. Raziel snarled and spun to face- Daniel, looking every bit as fearful as he felt. This was not Nosgoth. This was not someone he had to fear.

Raziel sagged. “My apologies.”

“Don’t worry about it. There’s something about this place that gets into your head. The sooner we leave the better.”

“Agreed.” Raziel started shakily skirting the whirlpool.

He was stopped by Dan’s hand on his shoulder. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Leaving. Those crystals are clearly significant.” There were three evenly spaced around the circle, the height of a man and gleaming a cloudy white in the moonlight.

“Do you know what to do with them?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll go. You stay here.”

“And I suppose you do know their purpose?”

“I haven’t got a clue.”

“Then I am coming with you.”

Raziel still wasn’t looking at him. Or, more accurately, Dan realised, he was avoiding looking at the maelstrom to his side. Awkwardly on the narrow walkway, he kept to the inner side, obscuring as much of the view as he could. He talked loudly in an attempt to drown out the roaring water.

“I remember going to look for this place once as a kid. Well, Tim was a kid, I was a bit older. Old enough to know better really, but I didn’t.”

“Have you ever?” Raziel asked, but there was no bite in it.

“Not that I can remember. Tim said there was some monster sleeping beneath the town, guarding more treasure than a king’s court could hold. I guess there was some truth to it.”

Dan tapped the crystal. It rang like a bell and Raziel winced. The still waters stirred. Clawed hands bit into the wood and a Guardian pulled itself from the lake.

Raziel didn’t think. He drew his sword and swung it like a club, heedless of the creature’s armoured hide. The blade struck the Guardian’s upraised arms again and again with the force of a hammer blow, forcing it back against the crystal. It stumbled as its back hit the cool surface. That was all the opening Raziel needed.

Dan looked away as the wraith’s claws gouged into its face. Blood sprayed from the creature’s slashed jugular, painting the boards and crystal red.

Raziel kicked the still twitching body into the water where it sunk with barely a ripple. He turned in time to see the blood fade from the crystal and the light from within grow brighter.

“Curious.” Raziel dipped his claw into the pool of blood on the floor and touched it to the crystal. It drank it up as eagerly as a newly raised fledgling.

“Do you think that was supposed to happen?” Dan asked anxiously.

Raziel thought back to the temples of the Ancients, of soul vessels and stolen hearts. “Most likely.”

“Well if that’s what we have to do.” Dan crouched down, made a face – and how he managed to do so with only a skull, Raziel would never know – and smeared his hand with blood. He skirted the whirlpool to the next crystal and lay his hand on it. It accepted the blood offering and glowed as brightly as the first.

Raziel’s eyes flicked down. Swirling waters, spilled blood, old scars. More blood on his hands. He pressed them against the final crystal.

It accepted the offering and began to glow along with the others. A haunting note rang out across the night, and the triad’s purpose became clear. The waters at their centre slowed in their endless cycle, water droplets hanging like crystals in the air, until the entire whirlpool became a funnel of frozen water. A dreadful certainty stole over Raziel and he backed away from the whirlpool as far as the crystal would allow.

He shook his head and pulled away when Daniel reached out to him.

“I know it doesn’t look safe, but-”

“No. No, Daniel I can’t.” Raziel stared at the frozen water as though hypnotised. “I- this was how I died. Water’s touch is deadly to what I once was. The Lake of the Dead tore the flesh from my bones and the soul from my body. And at the bottom, after an eternity of torment, I found the dark god that would take me for its own. I cannot do that again. Daniel, please.”

This time he didn’t pull away when Dan reached for him. There was no warmth in his touch, but he grasped at the scrap of comfort it brought.

“It won’t be like that again, I promise. Look.” Dan sat on the boards and tugged gently on Raziel’s arm until he joined him. He stared out across the lake and tried to think what to say.

“This isn’t the place you left, for better or for worse. You walked me through that battlefield, damn near literally dragged me out of hell. I owe you more than just my life. I may be… everything you know I am, but can you take a fool’s word that I’ll stay with you? I’ll keep you safe, if I can, and right now that means not being here.”

“For the better,” Raziel said eventually. “It is for the better that I found myself here with you, whether by chance or fate. Right now I trust you more than I can myself. You saw how I was when this first came into view.” He gestured at the frozen whirlpool. “When you startled me, I could have killed you.”

“But you didn’t,” Dan said. “Let’s not talk coulds or shoulds. I’d get a pretty raw deal.”

Raziel snorted quietly and swung his legs. His foot kicked against the top of the funnel of frozen water. Slick and hard as glass, or ice without the chill. The vortex he knew from death had never paused for god or man. He reached a decision.

“I’m ready.” He squeezed Daniel’s hand tightly and leapt.

The slide down was over in a moment, and before the strangled, smothered sob had left him, Raziel was tumbling through empty air. He hit the lake bed a second later and lay there.

There was a clanking of metal beside him as Daniel stood up. A moment later a hand reached out for his. Raziel let himself be pulled up.

What he saw chased the fearful memories far away. They stood in a dry tunnel which led between the submerged houses. Outside, fish flitted in and out of broken windows and open doorways, but here the thin film of sand on the ground was dry as bone, as if all moisture had been chased away from this unnatural tunnel. He put a claw to the boundary between lake and air. It was cool and unyielding, the same as the frozen whirlpool above.

Larger things than fish were visible once their eyes adjusted to the meagre light. A dozen or more Guardians stalked the drowned streets, seemingly oblivious to the intruders. One looked up and seemed to meet Raziel’s gaze for a second before hurrying away. That was all the encouragement they needed to take their own leave as swiftly as possible.

Away from the sunken town, the tunnel led steadily uphill. As the walls changed from water to sandstone, the unnatural dryness left the air as the spell’s hold waned. The path opened out and levelled off into a small, damp cave. At the far end, a pair of large wooden doors were set into the stone. Covering them like mushrooms, crystal growths shone and lit the dank underground chamber in all the colours of the rainbow.

“The mine entrance,” Dan said.

Raziel thought to say something cutting, but refrained. He pulled the doors open, flakes of crystal breaking away and drifting gently to the ground.

Swords drawn, the pair descended side by side into the earth’s embrace.


End file.
